


On the Way to Greatness| Book One

by CantSpeakFae



Series: Once More, with Slytherin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Dark!Harry(?), F/F, F/M, Gen, Good Lucius Malfoy, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hints at future Drarry, M/M, No Hermione or Ron bashing, No shipping because they're only eleven, Series Rewrite, Severus Snape isn't as much of an asshole, Slytherin!Harry AU, Snape mentors Harry, possible Dumbledore Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: "You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that."- The Sorting Hat.***Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. For one thing, no one in all of Privet Drive had any idea that he existed. For his whole, eleven years he’d been locked away in the confines of the house, stuffed in the cupboard under the stairs like an old umbrella that the Dursleys would just like to forget about. For another, he was a wizard. As strange and outlandish as that sounded, it was true. He's ready to make a new home at Hogwarts, though. Without any preconceived notions about the school or its Houses, he's sorted into Slytherin and makes fast friends with Draco Malfoy. But, how will this change the Boy-Who-Lived's story?





	1. Chapter 1

Number four, Privet Drive, was the envy of the entire neighborhood. 

The grass was always kept at the perfect length and was lushly green, the shutters always looked freshly painted, and the sidewalk was swept clean of any and all debris. Not so much as a single browned leaf from any tree was spared and left to mar their perfect world. The interior and those who lived within its walls were just as spotless, it seemed. Vernon Dursley was the director of a large, drill making firm called Grunnings, and while that was not a glamorous job it  _ did  _ afford them the ability to have anything they wanted. Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley stayed at their happy home and took care of their boisterous and obnoxiously loud son, Dudley. 

From the outside of things, it might have been impossible to guess that there was so much as a single cup out of place. But, on the inside, the Dursleys had a secret; a terrible, terrible secret that they’d sooner eat their own shoes than reveal to anyone. That secret was huddled under the sheets in the smallest bedroom, his jet black hair sticking up in irregular tuffs and his green eyes focused on the textbook resting against the mattress as he juggled both a torch and a pen while he underlined what he thought was important bits of information...which was to say, everything. His name was Harry Potter and he was, by no means, an ordinary boy.

For one thing, no one in all of Privet Drive had any idea that he existed. For his whole, eleven years he’d been locked away in the confines of the house, stuffed in the cupboard under the stairs like an old umbrella that the Dursleys would just like to forget about. For another, he was a wizard. As strange and outlandish as that sounded, it was true. And, if he ever started to doubt that fact, all he ever need do was sneak up behind his cousin and get a look at the curly pig's tail that peeked out through his trousers; a token of what magic could do and what was waiting for Harry beyond these walls.He was so close to freedom he could almost taste it; each date on his calendar was marked off up until tomorrow; when his time to leave the Dursleys would finally arrive. For weeks, he’d been eagerly anticipating this moment; pouring over his newly purchased spellbooks and absorbing all the knowledge he could. He’d never gone to a real school before; he’d learned to read, and write, and do basic arithmetic from Dudley’s old schoolbooks. Having no inclination of what a real school would be like, he thought it was best to know everything he could so he could impress his teachers with his wit and charm.

Perhaps, that way, even if it  _ was  _ a mistake, he wouldn’t have to go back. Really, it was just lucky that he had the chance to read it at all. Harry, for the most part, spent his every waking hour doing chores for his Aunt and Uncle; chores that left him with no more than four hours to sleep, if he was quick enough. His days were full of silverware polishing, cabinet organizing, laundry folding, and cooking meals. His nights were hardly better. He wasn’t allowed out, during the day, unless most of the neighbors had gone, and so he did all of the garden tending and shutter painting by the moonlight. However, Vernon and Petunia Dursley had become so frightened of him since Hagrid left that they didn’t speak to him, much less let him touch their things. Even Dudley, who’d bullied Harry since before he could walk, would run out of the room whenever he saw Harry entering, his hands clutching his bottom as though he was anticipating that Harry would come up behind him and try to cut his tail off. (Harry had threatened that, once, but he hadn’t been aware that Dudley had actually heard him.)

Despite his new free time, however, Harry was still unable to imagine being able to read “Magical Draughts and Potions” on the couch as they watched the telly or, “Hogwarts, A History” during breakfast. No, all of his studying had to be done under the cover of both night and his sheets. But, only for one more night...just one more night...just…Harry’s head started to tilt forward, dropping his flashlight and his pen as he started to slump against his bed with his textbook wedged under his chest. He thought that he ought to sit up and set the book aside to get more comfortable...but that was his last, coherent thought before he fell asleep.

* * *

King’s Cross Station was, Harry decided as he pushed his trolley in front of him, the most busy and terrifying place that he’d ever been in. He’d never seen so many people in one place, rushing about him like a colony of ants as they came and went. And Harry, who had been trying to summon the courage to approach an adult and ask about the platform he was supposed to be on, couldn’t seem to find his voice. So, he just leaned against the solid, brick beam that read, “Platform 9” and...waited. Surely, if he wasn’t crazy after all, someone would come along and direct him...surely, he wasn’t going to miss the train? That idea had his heart pounding even faster in his chest.

What if he  _ did  _ miss the train? Suppose that was grounds for an automatic expulsion? How would he get back to the Dursleys? Could he manage to face them again? Harry was just about to give up and find a quiet place to live out the rest of his life when-“Teeming with Muggles, of course.”Harry perked up immediately at the word, “Muggle”, and his green eyes found tall, slender blonde woman and her small family passing by, pushing a trolley with a trunk like his. And, in the sleeve of one of their shirts, Harry could have sworn that he saw the tip of a wand peeking out. He was so relieved that he forgot to be nervous about approaching them, just racing forward with his trolley to catch up with the family before they passed him by.

“Excuse me!” He said, breathing a little heavily. “Could- could you tell me how to...how to, uh…”

He looked up at the woman with a little bit of trepidation, suddenly wondering if he’d misheard her. What if he asked about the platform and she laughed in his face, insisting that he couldn’t possibly be going to Hogwarts? But, it turned out that his fears were unnecessary.

The woman just smiled kindly at him, and cast a glance at her husband before responding.

“How to get on the platform? All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Best to do it at a bit of a run. It makes it harder for the muggles to see you.”

She advised him, before nudging her son.

The boy- a short, blonde boy with slicked back hair who seemed to be about his age- cast a glance at Harry before sighing and running ahead, apparently to demonstrate how it should be done. He had all the easy confidence that Harry lacked, leaving Harry unable to believe that it was his first year too. Harry watched until the boy disappeared, and his mouth opened so wide with surprise that it almost seemed to hit the ground.

The woman standing beside him patted his shoulder somewhat coolly and then gestured for him to go ahead and make his run for it.Harry swallowed back against his fear and cast one last, nervous glance at the woman standing beside him before he took off. He broke into a full-on sprint, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the collision...but, it never came. And, when Harry opened his eyes again, he was through the barrier and nearly running into a small family in robes. He tried to apologize, but they shook him off with a vaguely amused comment of, “First years.”

Harry awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck at that comment, and looked around for the boy that had run ahead of him, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. Resigning himself to the fate of being completely at a loss, he started to push his trolley closer to the train, where everyone  _ seemed  _ to be loading their luggage up. He reached down to try and pull his trunk out of the trolley, but found that it was more difficult than putting it in had been, and the edge of the trolley dug into his stomach.Harry grunted with exertion and stood up straight again, trying to think of the easiest way to lift it without looking stupid.

“ _ Potter _ .”

A sneer sounded out from behind him and Harry whirled around, half-expecting to find that his aunt and uncle were there, about to drag him home...when his gaze settled on the blonde boy that had demonstrated how to get on the platform. The boy was gazing at him suspiciously, and then continued in a conversational tone.

“That is your name, isn’t? You’re him; Harry Potter?”

“Er...yeah.” Harry said, nodding once.

The blonde boy suddenly looked impressed before he glanced over his shoulder to see that his parents were nearing the two of them. Then, he looked back at Harry and watched as he continued to struggle with his trunk.

“I’m Draco Malfoy.” The blonde introduced himself, reaching out and gently tugging Harry away from his trolley. “Leave that. My father will help you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Harry said, realizing how lame that sounded. But, he didn’t know what else to say. The only person his own age that he ever talked to was Dudley, and those weren’t really conversations worth remembering.

“It’s uh...nice to meet you, Draco.”

“Draco.” A cold, silky voice called and Harry realized that it was Draco’s father. He appeared beside Draco as though he’d been there the whole time and he cast a tight smile in the direction of his son. “Making friends?”

“Yes, father.” Draco said, before gesturing at Harry’s trolley. “Harry, here, can’t lift his trunk.”

Harry squirmed slightly when Draco’s father trailed his gaze back to Harry. His eyes were cool and grey, he noticed, and that didn’t make him feel better. However, while he was expecting to be subjected to scorn, the older man just pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry’s trunk. He murmured a spell, too quietly for Harry to understand, and then his trunk floated from its place in the trolley and bobbed through the air until it landed neatly in the train.

“Thank you, sir!” Harry said, with a little more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. He must have sounded like an idiot, but he’d never seen magic in action like that, before. For what it was worth, Draco’s father looked both surprised and faintly amused by Harry’s outburst. He regarded Harry for another moment...and then nodded.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter.” He said. Like his son, he seemed to just...know who Harry was, and that made the eleven-year old a little uneasy. Once again, he was reminded that he was famous for something he knew nothing at all about. “I’m Lucius Malfoy. This is my wife, Narcissa. And, of course, you’ve met my son.”

Harry nodded, offering a little wave to Narcissa who was eyeing him critically. However, before he could feel too self-conscious, Draco went bustling over to him and stood by his side, nudging his shoulder.

“Come on, Harry. We need to get on the train before all the good seats are taken.” He said, before turning his blue eyes back to his parents. Harry noticed that he looked uncertain for a second...almost, sick? But, no. With a jolt, Harry realized that Draco was just nervous about leaving his parents. He couldn’t imagine how that felt; he’d been more than thrilled to leave the Dursleys behind. 

“Go on, Draco. We’ll wait here until the train leaves.” Narcissa promised. Harry dropped his gaze to the ground, certain that Draco would hug his parents goodbye and not wanting to intrude on the moment...but, it didn’t happen. Instead, Draco took Harry by his arm and drug him to the train with a hint of impatience in his every step.


	2. Chapter 2

“This way,” Draco ordered as they stepped into the train. “Follow me.”

Harry had to duck his head, narrowly avoiding being struck by a flying ball of crumpled paper, and he couldn’t quite hide his grin when he looked back up to keep an eye on Draco and follow him to wherever it was that he wanted to go. Unlike Harry, he seemed entirely confident in every step he took, almost like he’d memorized a map of the train. He didn’t even flinch with a handful of frog spawn zipped past his face, lobbed by a third year who grinned broadly when Draco glared at him. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, worried about upsetting his new friend so soon into the trip.

“Draco...where are we going, exactly?” Harry asked, finally mustering up the courage to speak. For a moment, he thought that the blonde boy was going to laugh at him for not knowing, but a one of the compartment doors slid open and a girl with a pug-like face peeked out, squealing-

“Draco!!!”

“Lo, Pansy.” Draco greeted her, grabbing Harry by his arm and shoving the girl out of the way so they two of them could squeeze into the compartment.

There were two other people inside- two large, beefy boys who had a pile of candy sitting between them. Brightly coloured wrappers were littered at their feet and Harry took great care not to step on them as Draco dragged him down to sit beside him, gesturing at the people that surrounded him.

“Harry. This is Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle,” Draco informed him, his tone as formal as Aunt Petunia’s when the Dursley’s were hosting a dinner party. That thought made Harry’s stomach twist; those sort of parties were the hardest to endure because of the scent of the food that he couldn’t have. “Everyone, this is Harry. Harry /Potter/.”

Draco said Harry’s last name with a significant amount of emphasis, taking a considerable about of pleasure in saying it. For a moment, Harry couldn’t figure out /why/ it was so important for them to know his last name, but the awed expressions of Draco’s friends were quick to remind him.

Right. He was famous, in this world. Famous for whatever it was he did that he couldn’t remember. For a moment, he wanted to tell them that he didn’t remember anything about why he was famous, and that he couldn’t do anything spectacular /now/...but, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. What if they didn’t want to be friends after learning that he wasn’t anything amazing? This was the first time he’d ever had friends, he couldn’t let it slip away.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to start telling stories about amazing stunts he had pulled in the past. Draco stole two brightly wrapped candies from Crabbe and Goyle’s piles and tossed one into Harry’s lap as he casually steered the conversation away from who Harry was.

“So, what are you lot looking forward to the most?”

“Potions, of course.” Pansy said, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “My mother always got OUTSTANDING in her owls for Potions, and they’re expecting the same for me.”

Crabbe made a noncommittal grunting noise, and Goyle seemed to second that, squishing a pumpkin pasty in his large fist and making it burst out of the wrapper so that he could squeeze it into his mouth.

Silence fell, and Harry realized that everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to chime in with what he was most looking forward to about Hogwarts. Panic set in, making his blood run cold, as he realized that he didn’t know what classes there were at Hogwarts, beside Potions. Those were the only textbooks he’d really thumbed through at the Dursley’s and he couldn’t copy what Pansy had said, could he?

“Erm, I dunno.” Harry finally admitted. “I didn’t know that Hogwarts existed until I got my letter. I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle and they don’t really...like magic.”

More silence.

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look, while Crabbe and Goyle’s mouths hung open, a chunk of chewed pasty falling onto the floor.

“Oh my God, they left you with-” Pansy started to shriek, but Draco kicked her hard enough to shut her up before turning to Harry and shaking his head.

“Well, it’s hardly /your/ fault that they dropped you off with Muggles, is it?” He asked, his tone daring anyone in the compartment to argue with him. “We’ll just have to teach you about it. Don’t worry, it’s all simple, really.”

Harry nodded, but his stomach twisted at the thought of being the only one who didn’t know what the expect from the school. What if this was all some kind of mistake? What if he got into the school and then they sent him back home, insisting that there had been some kind of mistake? He’d gotten so far...he didn’t think he could go back to the Dursleys, now.

“So, you’ve never /actually/ done magic?” Pansy asked, shifting her leg out of the way so that Draco couldn’t kick her again.

“Well…” Harry started to say, but he hesitated. Draco seemed to sense that he had _something_ worthwhile to offer, though, as he nudged Harry.

“Go on, then.” He urged.

“Well, there were a few things I’ve done.” Harry continued, leaning forward slightly. “I mean, little things. Like, I shrunk a sweater that my aunt was trying to force over my head, so I wouldn’t have to wear it. I jumped on top of a building, another time. Oh- and I accidentally set a snake on my cousin when I made the glass disappear. That’s all magic, isn’t?”

His words sounded like broken ramblings to his own ears but, based on the expressions of those that surrounded him, he must have said /something/ interesting. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that much accidental magic; my father says that it usually only happens when a wizard or witch feels pressured or afraid.” Pansy said. That wiped the smile right off of Harry’s face, and a blind sense of panic made his chest feel like it was about to tighten around his heart when she started to ask, “Did _you_ feel pressured or-”

Before she could fully corner him with the question, the sliding door was suddenly pulled open and a girl with a wild tangle of brown curls peeked in, looking about the compartment.

“Have any of your seen a toad running around?” She asked, staring at them as though she half-expected one or all of them to pull one from the pockets of their robes. And, when no one else seemed to think to answer her, Harry leaned forward and shook his head.

“No, there hasn’t been one here.” He promised, wondering why on earth there would be. The girl frowned at his answer, pulling her head back out and saying,

“Well, if you see one, it belongs to a boy named Neville. He’s worried sick looking for it.”

“I’ll let you know if we find it.” Harry said, noticing that neither Draco or Pansy seemed to want to make eye contact with the girl. If the other first-year noticed that, however, she didn’t comment on it and simply stepped back out. As soon as it was assumed that she was out of earshot, Draco leaned forward again and sneered.

“God, I thought she’d /never/ leave. What do you think, Pansy, muggleborn?”

“Oh, of course!” Pansy said, nearly cackling with wicked glee. “Did you see the state of her hair? And those robes? Only a muggleborn could look like /that/.”

Harry glanced at the door that the girl had stepped back out of, uncertain as to what they were talking about.

“What’s so bad about being muggleborn?” Harry asked, feeling defensive enough to ask the question. As soon as the words left his mouth, the laughter stopped and Draco almost looked apprehensive.

“Well...they don’t really belong with /us/ do they? They don’t have wizarding parents.”

If that was supposed to placate Harry, Draco had done a horrible job.

“My mother was a muggleborn.” Harry informed them coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. That was true, wasn’t? Aunt Petunia certainly wasn’t a witch, not in the magical sense, and he’d know if his grandparents were, wouldn’t he?

“Well...there’s nothing /wrong/ with that.” Draco said, trying to backtrack. “Purebloods are just better. My father has always said so. Do you know what your father was, Harry?”

“No.” Harry said, shortly.

An awkward sort of silence fell over the lot of them, and Harry directed his gaze to the window, already feeling alienated. He’d never known his parents, never known about magic, and now there was a chance that he didn’t really belong, based on people he’d never been able to know.

“...Oh! Look, there’s the station!” Pansy suddenly shrieked, making all the boys jump at the shrillness of her tone as she broke the silence. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes. Get ready, you lot!”

The five of them scrambled to grab their sweets and cram them into their trunks, bouncing in their seats and grinning ear to ear with the eager anticipation of arriving at the school. For a moment, it seemed that they’d all forgotten the tension that had just been between them, when Draco leaned over and whispered to Harry.

“I’ve...never actually met anyone who wasn’t pureblood. But, you seem alright by me. Maybe my father was wrong.”

Harry was taken aback by the sudden compliment, and looked over at Draco with a tentative smile. His word of thanks got caught in his throat, but Draco already seemed to know what he wanted to say and just nodded once. His glasses slid down his nose, a bit, and he was about to push them back up when Draco snatched them off of his face.

“You can’t show up in a pair of broken glasses.” Draco said when Harry made a sound of disapproval. “Here- watch.  _ Oculus Reparo _ !”

Harry squinted, making out the basic shape of Draco tapping his wand against his glasses while he intoned what must have been a spell. And, when he got his glasses handed back to him, he was surprised to find that they were no longer broken.

“Cool!” He said, trying to commit the spell to memory- there were so many ways that his glasses could get broken- but the words were out of his head with the first lurch of the train coming to a stop. Harry eagerly pushed himself closer to the window, the glass cold against the palm of his hands. He wasn’t able to see much, though, and Draco grabbed him by the back of his robes, pulling him toward the exit.

“Come on, then. We better get out there before all the good boats are taken.” He warned Harry, who sputtered with disbelief.

“ _ Boats?” _   



	3. Chapter 3

“It wasn’t all that bad, was it, Potter?” Malfoy drawled as they made their way up a grand flight of steps. Harry grimaced, stumbling along blindly as he tried to dry his glasses off with his robes. He nearly tripped over his own two feet, and mumbled a word of gratitude to Draco when he caught him and stopped him from falling.

“I dunno,” Harry said, truthfully, when he put his glasses back on his face. “I s’pose it could have been worse. I think I read somewhere that there’s a giant squid living in there.”

Draco gave him a funny look, and opened his mouth to say something, but was abruptly interrupted by Hagrid knocking his giant fist against the large, oak door. Another shiver shot up Harry’s spine, but this one had nothing to do with the cold and he tossed a panicked glance at Malfoy. Draco didn’t look half as nervous as he felt, though, and Harry’s heart sank at the determined expression on his new friend’s face. Suppose being nervous was a sign that he didn’t belong? What Draco think if he was turned away?

Harry almost thought to ask him, or maybe just run away, but it was too late. The door swung open and out stepped a  tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Her expression was cool and stern, and Harry’s already queasy stomach felt as though it was being squeezed by a vice of fear.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” Said Hagrid, with a clumsy gesture to the gaggle of eleven year olds behind him. A few people tittered at the way a bit of dog food seemed to fall from the pockets of his enormous jacket, but they were immediately silenced by the sharp gaze of the witch in green.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” The Professor said. Her voice was just as stern as her expression. “I will take them from here.”

The door opened wider, and Harry stretched up on his toes to get a better look at the entrance hall, marveling at its vastness. It was so large that, he was certain, all of Private Drive could have fit inside of it. The stone walls were lit with torches, reminding Harry how cold and dark it was around him, and the ceiling was too high for him to see from where he was standing. He was able to catch sight of the magnificent marble staircase, though, and that seemed to be where McGonagall intended to lead them.

“Draco...do you know where we’re going?” Harry murmured to him as they started to file into the Castle, hurrying to keep pace with the stern-faced witch who had taken off without a word of warning. 

“We’re being taken to be sorted, of course.” Draco said.

Harry fell silent, again, even with a million questions running through his mind, when he noticed that another first year with bright red hair was starting to inch closer to them with a curious expression on his face. Harry didn’t want anyone else to know how little he actually knew about Hogwarts. Sorting, he knew, meant that they’d be divided into their proper houses...but, what he didn’t know is what house he could possibly belong to. Or how they’d find out.

Before Harry could do much more worrying, Professor McGonagall led the lot of them into a small, empty chamber that was part of a greater hall. They all crowded in, together, with only a bit of pushing and shoving. Harry was relieved to notice that there were other students looking around just as nervously as him; that not everyone had the same easy confidence that Draco did. It wasn’t enough to put him entirely at ease, but it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

“Welcome, first year, to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall began, peering over her glasses at the lot of them. Harry squirmed, and Draco nudged him. “The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you may take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. This ceremony should not be taken lightly, by any of you. Your house, while you are here, will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, you will sleep within your house’s dormitory, and you will spend free time within your house’s common room.

Harry looked to Draco, hardly daring to hope that they’d end up in the same house. They were nothing alike, were they? Draco was cool, confident, and knew what he wanted. Harry was...just Harry. What would he do if they weren’t in the same house? Could he stomach trying to make new friends, and explaining himself all over again?

“The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

Yes, Harry remembered that. Hagrid had told him so, when Harry had gone with him to get his supplies, and there was even more about it in Hogwarts, A History. But how were they going to find out which house was right for them?

“Your triumphs at Hogwarts will earn your house points, while rule breaking will lose those points. So, I suggest that you learn how to act as a whole, united front dedicated to upholding the traditions of Hogwarts rather than besmearing them because, at the very end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, which is a very prestigious honour.”

Harry pushed slightly forward. Surely she was going to tell them how the sorting would be done?

“The sorting Ceremony will begin in just a few moments, with the entire school as the audience. I suggest that you do all that you can to smarten yourselves up while you are waiting.”

That was it?!

Entirely panicked now, Harry watched as she walked away with his mouth agape, his heart pounding in his ears. She wasn’t going to tell them how they were going to find their houses and it was in front of the entire school? He was going to make a fool of himself, he already knew it.

“Draco?” Harry started to ask. “How exactly do they sort us into-”

“Hey...you’re Harry Potter, aren’t you!”

An excited shout interrupted Harry’s timid question, and both he and Draco turned to see who had said it. The same red haired boy who had been trying to eavesdrop, earlier, had moved ever closer and was gesturing at Harry with wild, flapping motions.

“Er...yes?” Harry said, slowly. He had been so nervous about the sorting that he’d nearly forgotten that he was famous, here. “Who are you?”

“Oh! I’m Ron. Ron-”

“Weasley.” Draco finished, for the other boy. His tone was unfriendly, and he straightened up, some. “That’s right, isn’t?”

“...Yeah.” Ron said, his attention shifting from Harry to Draco. His wide, blue eyes lingered on Draco’s blonde hair and dignified pose and he scoffed. “You must be a Malfoy. I’ve heard about your family.”

“What about his family?” Harry asked, defensive now. He didn’t know much about Draco, yet...nor about his parents, but he knew enough to know that he didn’t like Ron’s tone. They’d been nice enough to him, after all.

“They’re dark wizards. Everyone knows that.” Ron insisted. There were a few murmurs of agreement from the students crowded around them, but none that were distinct enough to pinpoint. “The Malfoys are bad blood. They were in league with You-Know-Who!”

A few gasps rang out, and a nervous looking boy stepped back away from Malfoy, who suddenly looked a few shades paler, as though Ron’s words had taken all the blood out of his face. It didn’t last long. Draco’s lip started to curl back in a sneer, but Harry was faster.

“Draco hasn’t been anything but nice to me,” Harry defended him, feeling much braver than he ought to have.

“Of course he has! You’re Harry Potter! He’s probably trying to convert you to the dark side. Or worse!” Ron said. His tone grew ominous. “You need to watch out for him, as famous as you are.”

“I think I can make decisions for myself, thank you.” Harry said, ignoring the warning. Next to him, Malfoy’s expression became smug and both he and Harry turned away from Ron, who looked flabbergasted by Harry’s answer.

“First years? Form a line and follow me. This way, if you please.”

Professor McGonagall had returned, effectively ending the conversation, if Harry’s words had not. Harry hurried to follow these new directions, even with his legs feelings like lead, falling in between Draco and Pansy, who was glaring over at the same bushy haired girl who had stepped into their compartment of the train, looking for a toad. She seemed to be whispering spells to herself, clearly preparing for whatever might be waiting for them. Harry’s throat tightened, wishing that he could remember anything that he’d read. Too late, now. They were in motion, walking through the double doors and into the Great Hall.

Harry, in all his life, had never seen a more amazing or strange place. There were no light fixtures, he saw. No, it was illuminated by thousands upon thousands of candles that lined the tables, the walls, and even floated in midair. The rest of the students were seated at their respective tables- Harry could see the banners hanging over head that designated them to each house- while the teachers were seated at the front of the room. That’s where they were led, toward the front, and were left waiting in their line just a few feet from where a stool was, with an old hat sitting on it. Harry didn’t understand what it was there for, left with only the funny feeling that he may have to pull a rabbit out of it, and trailed his gaze upward to look at something- anything- else.

His breath was taken away by the sight above him. A black velvet sky, dotted with stars. For a wild moment, he thought there was no roof at all, but no...he had read through Hogwarts, A History. That had said that it was just bewitched, hadn’t? Wouldn’t he feel cold if there was no roof, anyway? 

Professor McGonagall stepped closer to the stool where the filthy hat was, drawing Harry’s attention back to it. 

“What is that for?” Harry murmured, to Pansy this time. She started to tell him, but they were both startled by a sharp ripping noise as the hat split at the brim and burst into a song.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,   


I'll eat myself if you can find   


A smarter hat than me.   


You can keep your bowlers black,   


Your top hats sleek and tall,   


For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat   


And I can cap them all.”

Harry nearly passed out with relief. That was all there was to it? Just a few moments of wearing an old hat? No spells? No test? He didn’t even listen to the rest of the song, too happy about being able to feel his legs again to listen too closely. He clapped along with everyone else when the song ended, though, and took a deep breath as McGonagall pulled out a list and began to read off names of the first years. Hannah Abbot was called up, first,and Harry winced sympathetically as she shyly approached the front. The hat hardly sat over her blonde pigtails for more than a few seconds before shouting out-

“HUFFLEPUFF.”

She took it off of her head and set it down onto the stool before sprinting to her table, and the next student was called forward. Another Hufflepuff, followed by a Ravenclaw. The boy that was sorted there, Terry Boot, looked smug. Another Ravenclaw followed, and then went the first Gryffindor, a girl named Lavender. 

Draco was beginning to look bored, while Harry was starting to lose the feeling in his legs again. As easy as this seemed when he first realized what was going on, he was slowly beginning to lose his confidence again. The list went on, and more students were shooed to the their respective tables.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. Harry recognized her as the intelligent girl from the line. Pansy murmured something about even Hufflepuff being too good for the likes of her, but her nasty mutterings were interrupted by the shout of ‘GRYFFINDOR’ from the hat. Harry thought he heard Ron groan. Strange. Maybe he just didn’t like anyone.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as he looked back to the hat. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall yanked it off his head and deemed him a lost cause? A mistake that should have never been invited to Hogwarts?

Malfoy was called forward after another few minutes, and he swaggered up to the stool. The hat only just brushed against his hair before shouting “SLYTHERIN” and sending him to join Crabbe and Goyle, who were glaring at the golden plates in front of them as though trying to create food with their minds.

Slytherin.

If he was sorted and if he wanted to be in the same house as Malfoy, he’d have to be in Slytherin. But hadn’t Hagrid told him that Slytherin produced dark wizards? Wasn’t that the house that Voldemort was in? No, he couldn’t possibly be sorted into the same house as the man who killed his parents!

More names. Moon. Nott. Parkinson. Twin girls Patil and Patil. Perks. And then, finally…

“Potter, Harry.”

Gathering up what little courage he had, Harry stepped forward and tried to ignore the whispers that broke out when his name was called. Suddenly, everyone regained interest in the sorting. A thousand pairs of eyes were on him, watching his every move.

“Potter? Did she say Harry Potter?”

“ _ The  _ Harry Potter?”

“No way.”

“That’s him!”

Harry was grateful for the hat being lowered over his eyes, so he didn’t have to keep looking at the crowd of faces and people who were craning to get a good look at him like he was an animal in a zoo.

Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. Harry flinched before he realized that it was the hat, speaking to him. Not out loud, though...not really. It was more in his mind, than anything. 

"Difficult. Very difficult.” The hat lamented. “I see plenty of courage...not a bad mind either, mind you. There's talent, loads of talent...and now, this is interesting. A thirst to prove yourself. Where to put you? A bit nervous, are you? Well, no matter.”

Harry was frozen. He almost wanted to beg the hat to put him in any house  _ but  _ Slytherin. Any house but the dark house. But, then...Draco’s face filled his mind, and he was ashamed of himself. How could he buy into all of that talk of Slytherin being ‘the bad house’ when Draco had been so kind to him?

“No need to be so bothered, Potter. Every house has produced greatness, and no one claims all the cruelty in the world.  You could do great things, Mr. Potter. And Slytherin will help you on that path.”

_ Him?  _ He could do great things? He hardly dared to believe it.

“Seems like you’ve made up your own mind, then, Potter. Better make it- SLYTHERIN.”

The last word was shouted to the entire great hall, but there was no applause to follow it. Everyone had gone silent. With shaking hands, Harry pulled the hat off of his head and offered it to Professor McGonagall, who took it with an expression of disbelief. She looked so stunned, in fact, that Harry almost didn’t move, wondering if he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe he’d only imagined the hat placing him somewhere?

But, no. In the next moment, Draco leapt to his feet and started applauding wildly. He shattered the silence and seemed to break everyone out of their spell. The rest of the Slytherin table began whooping and hollering for joy, chanting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” as the other tables clapped politely but with almost no enthusiasm.

Draco scooted over as Harry approached, leaving room for him to sit.

“I knew you were going to be with me!” Draco announced.

“I didn’t.” Harry said, honestly. “I thought I was just going to be sent home.”

“I wouldn’t have let them take you.” Draco insisted, grinning broadly. “Just wait until Father hears about _this_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry didn’t pay attention to the rest of the sorting, and it seemed that he wasn’t the only one. As soon as the surrounding students were made aware of his presence in the school, everyone had started staring right at him. And Harry, whose face suddenly felt hot when he caught sight of a third-year Ravenclaw climb halfway onto the table to get a better look at him, was determined to find a distraction and scanned the long teacher’s table. He spotted Hagrid, sitting on the end opposite of him, catching his eye and grinning broadly when Hagrid winked and gave him a thumbs up. And there, he saw as his gaze traveled further, at the very center of the High Table, was Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once, from one of Crabbe’s many, many chocolate frog cards. He had the same silver hair and bright blue eyes; that much was obvious, even from a distance. Not wanting to be caught staring at the Headmaster, Harry shifted his gaze to the next, familiar face. Professor Quirrell- he’d met him in the Leaky Cauldron. He had the same, large purple turban on, and seemed to be chatting quietly with a man who wore robes as dark as his hair. Both men turned to look to Harry, almost entirely in sync, and Harry immediately turned away, discouraged from staring by both embarrassment and a sharp, burning pain in the scar on his forehead.

“Ouch!” Harry muttered, raising his hand to rub at the lightening bolt shaped injury.

Draco turned from where he was chatting animatedly with Blaise Zabini, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own.

“You alright?"

Harry pressed his lips into a considering frown, unsure how to answer. The pain in his scar had faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him without an answer to give. So, he just lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But, er…”

He gestured to the table where the teachers were seated, lowering his voice.

“Who’s that man, sitting next to Professor Quirrell?”

Draco looked over, scoffing under his breath at Quirrell’s unusual appearance, and gazing at the dark haired man beside him.

“We’ve really got to teach you about Hogwarts, Potter, before you make a fool of yourself to someone else.” Draco chastised him. “That’s Professor Snape. He’s head of our house, and Potions Master.”

Harry dropped his gaze back down to the empty plates on the table, his throat suddenly feeling tight. Not because of what Draco said- though being reminded that he knew almost nothing about Hogwarts wasn’t particularly pleasant- but because, in the split-second that Snape held his gaze, Harry got the impression that maybe...maybe the teacher didn’t like him. It was a bold assumption to make, considering that they had never once spoke to each other, but…

“Head of our house? What does that mean, for us?”

“Just means he’s in charge of us, I suppose.” Draco. His small frown vanished in the next moment, though, replaced by an impish grin. “We’re lucky, you know. Everyone knows that he favours us.”

“Favours us?” Harry repeated, glancing back up at the dark haired man. McGonagall’s words from earlier came back to him, then, about House Points and how to earn them. Maybe Draco meant that Snape awarded them more points to win the cup. “Isn’t that a bit...unfair?”

Draco looked perplexed by Harry’s question, as though he would have never thought about something like that. He was quiet, for a second, and then just shook his head.

“No.” He decided, though his voice was less smug. “He’s the only one that does.”

“The only one who favours his own house?”

“No, the only one who favours us.”

Draco’s expression darkened.

“My father warned me about it. You’ll see what I mean once we start our classes.”

Harry was still slightly doubtful, but decided to take Draco’s word for it. After all, Draco knew much more about all of this than he did. Even if he had wanted to argue, though, it was too late. Their conversation was cut short by Dumbledore rising to his feet. He said nothing, but silence fell over everyone just the same as he beamed out at them.

“Welcome!” He called. His voice was low and he didn’t seem to be shouting, but his voice carried just the same. “Yes, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say just a few words.”

Draco groaned next to him, glowering at his empty plate. Harry had to agree with his sentiment. It seemed as though it had been days since they’d eaten those sweets on the train, rather than just a few hours.

“And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

A pause.

“Thank you!” He declared, as he retook his seat. Harry turned to look at Draco, completely nonplussed as the rest of the Great Hall clapped and cheered.

“Is he…?” Harry started to ask, but Draco was already nodding.

“Mad? Yes. Father says he’s a great wizard, but a few chocolate frogs short of a full set.” He said, dismissively. “You going to eat, Harry?”

Harry glanced back to the spread of plates in front of them, stunned to find that they were no longer empty, but bursting with food. Roast chicken, potatoes, gravy, roast beef, pork chops, sausages, bacon, steak! He’d never seen so much food in one place and his mouth fell wide open, hardly able to believe that any of it was there. The Dursleys didn’t technically starve him...but Harry had never been allowed to eat as much as he liked, allotted only one plate of each meal and with a serving that was only a fraction of the size of theirs.

Malfoy held up his plate to a bowl of mashed potatoes that was floating around, serving itself, and Harry did the same when prompted.

“Welcome, young blood.” A low, stilted voice spoke from behind the two of them. Harry’s dropped his fork in his surprise, sending it falling with a soft ‘plunk’ into his mashed potatoes and Draco nearly spilled hot gravy into his lap. A ghost appeared, in the spot between Blaise and Draco, taking a seat and staring ahead with blank eyes. His robes seemed to be covered with silvery blood. Draco cringed back away from him, while an older student spoke calmly.

“First years? This is the Bloody Baron, resident ghost of the Slytherin house. You will, of course, treat him with respect.”

Harry couldn’t imagine being able to do anything but. Even if the man hadn’t been a ghost, he would have been terrifying to behold.

“I have the utmost faith in you all.” The Baron said, looking at none of them. “The Slytherin house has been the paragon of respect and dignity since it was founded by our own Salazar Slytherin.”

Wisely, Harry ate a forkful of potatoes instead of asking who that was. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the ghost, or the older students who were beginning to look curiously at him. The Baron drifted off without saying anything else. Beside him, Draco exhaled with relief.

“It’s a shame my mouth was full,” He said, speaking pompously again. “Otherwise I would have introduced myself. Father said that the Baron looks favorably upon the Malfoys.” 

“We could call him back over,” Harry suggested, his tone carefully innocent. “I’m sure he’d love to chat with you, Draco.”

Some of the bravado in his expression slipped.

“No, no!” He said, hastily. “We shouldn’t bother him. I expect he has important business to attend to.”

Harry tried to turn his snigger into a cough, but couldn’t quite manage it. 

"Is it normal for there to be ghosts in the wizarding world?" Harry asked, unintentionally drawing all the attention off of Malfoy's false display of bravado and onto his ignorance of the magic world. Several pairs of eyes landed on him and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Don't mind, him." Draco said, clearly trying to come to his aid, though doing it poorly. "He grew up with Muggles."

"...Muggles?!"

Abruptly, Harry found himself wishing that he could sink into the floor. Suddenly, everyone was silent. A few of the older students stopped their conversations, looking to Harry with expressions composed of equal parts of disgust and pity. One of the other first years, a boy that Harry didn’t know, muttered, again-

“Muggles?!”

_Malfoy, you right foul-_

Internally, Harry was murderous, but outwardly, he only dropped his gaze and swallowed back against his own embarrassment.

"Yeah, I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle and they don't really have magic."

More silence. No one seemed to know how to respond. At least, not until an older student asked-

"No magic? What was that like? How do they manage?"

“I...I dunno how to compare it to growing up with Wizards, but, they do things themselves, or they build things to do what they want, for them. They get by, alright. At least, I thought they did. I’ve never really known magic, before now.” 

“Strange.” Draco said, biting into a piece of chicken. “What kind of things do they build?”

“I dunno. Erm...just machines, I guess. Things made out of metal that run on electricity or gas. Muggles build trains, and cars, and telephones. They have airplanes to fly across countries and television so they don’t get bored.”

Draco looked both repulsed and fascinated, a feeling that seemed to be shared by a lot of Slytherins around them. An older student made a disparaging sound.

“I can’t believe they left Harry Potter with muggles.” He said, wrinkling his nose. “That should be a crime.”

A few students murmured in agreement.

“I can’t imagine having grown up without magic.” Pansy sniffed, stabbing bit of lettuce on her plate with the end of her fork. “It sounds so...boring.”

“Never fear, Potter.” Draco chimed in, clapping Harry on the back. “You’re one of _us_ now. I’ll write to mother and father. I bet they won’t let you be sent back. No respectable wizard should have to live without magic.”

“Not go back?” Harry echoed. “But where would I go? The Dursleys are the only family I have left.” 

“You’d stay with us, of course.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s a good thing you came here. Any more time with muggles and you might have had no sense left in your head at all.”

Harry ignored the insult, too enamored with the idea that Draco had just given him; the idea that he’d never have to go back the Dursleys.

“You really think they’d let me stay with you?” Harry asked, his tone a little bit softer so that his excitement wouldn’t be too overwhelmingly obvious.

“Of course they would. You’re _Harry Potter._ They have to let you.” Draco insisted, eyeing the trays of food as their dinner vanished, cleaned away and replaced by heaps of sweets. He grabbed a thick brownie off of the tray and that was the end of that conversation, for the time being.

***

Once it seemed that Harry could not possibly eat so much as one more bite of dessert, it too vanished, along with the gleaming gold plates that had held it. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, again, and everyone was silent.

Draco shifted in his seat, nonchalantly leaning back against Harry, and patting his somewhat distended stomach. He already looked bored, with whatever Dumbledore was going to say, but Harry’s full attention was on the Wizard up front.

"Now that our bellies are full and our throats no longer dry, I do have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” He said, smiling merrily at them all. “To begin with, First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students ought to be reminded of that, as well.”

His light blue eyes lingered on a set of twins sitting at the Gryffindor table. There was such a striking resemblance between them and Ron that they must have been related, and they saluted Dumbledore with matching grins on their faces.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our beloved caretaker, that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Any student caught doing so will be given detention. Thirdly, Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term, and anyone who is interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch, who has the list of the team Captains.”

“Quidditch?” Harry asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Draco muttered, his eyes mostly closed.

“And, finally, I must impress to you all that, this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

His tone was such that only a few people laughed. Harry almost started to, but seeing the solemn expressions of those around him, bit back the urge. Instead, he looked to one of the older students and asked-

“...He’s not serious, is he?”

“Of course he is.” The student said, dismissively. “He almost always is. Usually he gives us a reason...but you’d still be smart to keep your nose out of it.”

Draco snorted from where he was leaning himself against Harry. Or...maybe he just snored. It was hard to tell with the way that he had his eyes closed.

Finally, after Dumbledore’s announcement, they were directed off to bed. Draco rose somewhat unwillingly, while Harry jumped to his feet, eager to see what their common room looked like. The first years were directed to follow a tall boy and girl, each who had a shining badge pinned to their robes, declaring them as ‘Prefects’.

The walk to the dungeons, where there Common Room would be, was a long one. They made their way down several flights of stairs and took more turns than Harry could possibly remember to get back to the Great Hall or- more worryingly- to get back to any of his classes. Draco and Pansy seemed to trust in themselves, though, as they chatted about which lessons they hoped to have first, Crabbe and Goyle at their side and grunting along.

“No need to look too worried, Harry.” Blaise said, suddenly appearing at his other side. “The second years swear that it’s not as hard to navigate as it looks.”

Harry nodded, but that didn’t stop him from trying to memorize each twist and turn.

Finally, though, they did reach a space in the stone wall that, when given a password, opened up into a long passage that lead them to the Common room.

Harry was not the only one who took into the room with an expression of awe. Everyone, even Draco, was stunned by it. It looked to Harry as though the dungeon extended partway under the lake, and maybe that was why the lighting in there had a green tinge. There was several low backed, black and green leather sofas, with skulls sitting on the mantle above the fireplace and dark wood cupboards. High above them all, hanging on the walls were tapestries that seemed to feature what looked like medieval Slytherins. Harry had never been in a place like the Slytherin Common Room and he was certain that he’d never travel to another place that was as cool.

Through one of the windows, he noted, he could _see_ fish darting around. So they were really under the lake! Harry started to turn to ask Draco what he thought about it, but was silenced before he could even get the words out. The dark haired man from before, Professor Snape, entered the room. His black cloak billowed out from behind him, and he stood before the first years with a faintly disdainful expression.

“...First years.” He drawled. His voice was deep and slow, and he paused as though to give his words emphasis, or maybe to think of the right ones to think, next. “...I’d like to have a few words with you, before you retire for the evening. The rest of you, who already know the expectations of the Slytherin house...may retire.”

There as a sudden rush of movement, as the older students filed out of the Common Room, yawning and chatting quietly among themselves, and Harry got the feeling that nothing Snape said was a ‘suggestion’ so much as a quietly worded command.

Once they were gone, Snape turned his gaze back to the first years that were gazing up apprehensively at him. Only Draco seemed completely at ease.

“First, I would like to congratulate you all on being sorted into the noble house of Slytherin. As you may have guessed, this is not an honour that is passed onto just anyone. Only those who gifted with a keen mind, true talent, and a future of greatness are ever brought into our house.”

Harry straightened up, a little, and noticed that Draco did too. It was no wonder that Draco seemed so keen on the favouritism that Snape showed them...Harry had never been called gifted, intelligent, or talented. Not once. For the last eleven years, all he had been was a freak; the Dursleys embarrassment. Never allowed to roam past the walls of their home. To hear Professor Snape proclaim that he was part of something so spectacular now? Well...it was nice.

“As such,” Snape continued. “I have not and will not ever tolerate any behaviour that will reflect negatively upon the Slytherin House or myself. You...are expected to conduct yourselves in a manner befitting our noble heritage at all times, or face...severe consequences.”

His tone grew dire, and Harry wanted to shrink back again. It was sheer force of will alone that he didn’t.

“The Slytherin House has...thus far...conducted itself in such a manner that we have been the sole holder of the House Cup for the last six years, and I do not intend to lose it now.” Snape warned them. “Furthermore, as you may have noticed, the Slytherin House holds its share of...nasty rumours and assumptions made of us by the other houses. As such, it is not only expected but _required_ of you to provide a united front. You’ll find that you have too enemies on the outside to indulge in squabbles with your housemates.”

Harry glanced at Draco, suddenly reminded of the way that Ron had reacted to him. Accusing him of being apart of a bad family. Was this how everyone would see them? All the time?

“Being part of a united front means being unafraid of asking for help. Do...feel free to make inquiries of your Prefects on how best to behave. It’s better to ask than to assume and make us all look like fools. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nodded. A few brave students even managed vocal responses.

“...Good. Off to bed with you, then. Girls, that dormitory. Boys, the other. The first level of rooms belongs to first years, and you will find some of your things sitting on the bed that belongs to you. Go.”

No one hesitated. Harry started to follow Draco to the room that had been pointed out for the boys, but faltered as a hand suddenly shot out to stop him.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry froze where he was, a cold shiver tingling down his spine as he looked up at the man who had brought him to a halt.

“Y-yes, sir?” Harry asked, looking over at Draco, who had also come to a halt. He looked between Harry, Snape, and the dorm room...and then stayed firmly rooted in place, clearly intending on waiting for Harry.

“I’d like a word with you.” Snape told Harry, his dark eyes flicking briefly in Draco’s direction. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m certain you can find the dorm room by yourself.”

“...Yes, sir.” Draco said. His expression was almost apologetic when he looked back at Harry, but he didn’t hesitate to disappear into the dorm rooms.

Harry almost felt that he couldn’t have possibly spoken at all, not with the way that his heart had jumped into his throat. What could he have done, so soon, to earn himself a lecture? And a lecture was certainly what this felt like.

“...Am I in trouble, sir?” He did manage to squeak out, the words sticking in his throat. Snape gazed at him consideringly.

“No.” He said, after a moment. “I merely wished to relay a word of warning to you, Mr. Potter. I understand that you have recently learned that you have a certain...celebrity status.”

“I-” Harry started to say, but Snape’s eyes flashed, and he fell silent again.

“Do not interrupt, Potter.” He warned, then took a deep breath. “I understand that this fame may be more than you can wrap your head around, but if you think that your celebrity status will exempt you from having to uphold the traditions of this house and this school…”

“I...Professor?” Harry asked, somewhat timidly. When Snape didn’t bark at him for interrupting, again, he took that as permission to continue speaking. “I don’t really...understand what I’m famous for, sir. I mean, I was told that people think I’m important because Volde-”

“Do. Not. Say. His. Name.” Snape hissed out through gritted teeth.

“Sorry!” Harry apologized, automatically. “I just meant, people say I’m important because, er, You-Know-Who couldn’t kill me. But, I don’t really think that’s something I want to be remembered for or really think about.”

Snape was silent. But Harry still didn’t dare to look up at him as he continued.

“...When Hagrid came to tell me about Hogwarts, he told me that Vold- I mean, You-Know-Who, killed my parents. I’m only famous because they’re not around. I don’t know why I didn’t die, but I don’t want people to think that I’m more than what I am. I’m just...Harry.”

He stopped speaking, then, uncomfortable. He’d never spoken that much to an adult in one go. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn’t have let him carry on that long and part of Harry was afraid that Snape was going to take a swipe at him the same way that they would have if he’d gone on speaking for too long.

He did not.

“...You are remarkably astute, Mr. Potter.” Snape said. His voice hadn’t changed, but Harry still felt that it was safe enough, now, to look up at him. Professor Snape’s dark eyes were unreadable, and his expression carefully controlled. But...if Harry wasn’t mistaken, he’d said the right thing. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts about your...placement, here, but as long as you continue to behave like this…”

Harry’s hopes were suddenly lifted.

“Off to bed with you.” Snape said, gesturing in the direction of the boys dormitory. “I won’t have a member of my house oversleeping and missing his first day of class.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said, his feelings of dread fading a bit. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Potter.”

Harry scampered off, not daring to look back at the Professor as he disappeared down the hall leading to his new bedroom.

***

Harry found his things on the bed next to where Draco was lying, but they were so clumsily strewn across the duvet that there was no need to wonder if that had happened by chance or if Draco had ordered someone to switch. He put his clothes into the drawers next to his bed and shoved his suitcase underneath it, climbing under the emerald green covers and yawning.

“What did Snape want?” Draco asked, quietly. He was lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Erm...just wanted to let me know that my...fame isn’t going to be an excuse for me to break rules.” Harry said, honestly, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“Really?”

Draco sounded annoyed.

“That’s ridiculous. What’s the point of being famous, then?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer...maybe even ask him if _he’d_ like to be famous for what Harry was, but he fell asleep before he could get the words out, missing Draco’s muttered-

“...Night, Harry.”


	5. Chapter 5

“There he is, look!”

“Where?”

“Right there!”

“Next to the blonde kid.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did _you_ see his scar?”

“I can’t believe he’s a _Slytherin._ ”

“I guess it takes dark magic to stop dark magic?”

Harry had hardly seen any of the castle since he and Draco had stepped out of the Slytherin Common room that morning, too bothered by the whispers that followed him to even think about watching where he was going or committing the layout of Hogwarts to his memory like a map. He couldn’t go anywhere without feeling as though everyone was staring at him. They lined up outside of classrooms, pushing and shoving each other, standing on tiptoe to try and get a look at him inside. They doubled back to pass him in the corridors once, twice, and even three times just to get another look at his face. They hissed out his name to get him to look and then ran away when he did. All of it made Hogwarts more confusing than it should have been. And it was already confusing as it was.

“Are they still looking?” Harry asked Draco, who had one hand on the front of Harry’s robes, pulling him along to help him avoid hitting his head on a wall or tripping over discarded books, as he had already done twice that morning.

“Do you really think they’re going to stop?” Draco countered, sounding slightly annoyed, though Harry couldn’t tell if he was irritated with him or if he was annoyed by the gaggles of students that followed them around, now. “Face it, Potter. You’re the most exciting thing that half of these people have ever seen.”

Harry grimaced at that. He didn’t _want_ to be the most exciting thing that they had ever seen. All he wanted was to get to his classes and try to pretend that he had any idea what he was doing, which would have been difficult enough without all of the extra attention. Hogwarts, he learned, had a hundred and forty-two staircases. Wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. There were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, and some that you had to tickle in just the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, just solid walls that wanted to play pretend.

The ghosts weren’t much help, either. Not that they weren’t willing to give directions to a lost first year, but because their coming and going was unannounced and there never was a shock as nasty as that of a ghost sliding through the door you were trying to open and passing right through you. And then there was Peeves, the Poltergeist. No one knew why he was there, only that he lived to cause problems for students and teachers alike. He enjoyed picking on first years, in particular, and Harry had witnessed him drop wastepaper baskets on one girls head, pull a rug out from under a Hufflepuff’s feet, and had even snuck up behind Pansy, completely invisible, and grabbed her nose while screaming, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

And yet, not even he had proven to be the worst threat to Harry’s sanity, yet. No, the worst offender of them all was Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch. He was a grumpy, dirty-haired man who seemed to make it his life’s mission to ruin the lives of all the students who crossed his path. Harry and Draco had the unfortunate luck of having made themselves known to him by attempting to break through a door that they _thought_ would lead them to their Charms class when, really, it was the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He’d refused to believe that it was only an accident and had even threatened to lock them in one of the unused dungeons until Draco told him that he’d be informing not only the headmaster but his father- who Harry was beginning to realize was a very affluent and influential man- about that threat.

The caretaker had skulked off with half-formed apologies but, ever since then, Harry often saw Filch’s dust coloured cat, Mrs. Norris, trailing behind them and waiting for them to break so much as one rule so that she could run off and give Filch a reason to get back at them.

With so many things that could possibly go wrong or prevent them from getting to class, it almost seemed like the entire castle was out to get him. The last thing he needed was extra attention from his peers. Especially since half of them had convinced themselves that he was in the running to be the next, dark wizard.

That, if nothing else, was funny to both Harry and Draco, and for the same reasons. Harry ‘Famous’ Potter, the boy who lived, the one that everyone admired? He had no idea what he was doing, in any of his classes.

Now, that was true for most first years. In fact, even Draco needed practice when it came to performing the spells. But, somehow, it looked pathetic when Harry messed up, or needed help, or even just didn’t have the right answer at the right time, because everyone already had the expectation that he’d be as powerful as the teachers. More, even.

And, for his part, Harry had severely underestimated his classes. While he’d had the idea that it would all just be a bit of wand waving and some funny words, there was so much more to magic than that.

Their Astronomy professor had told them that, every Wednesday, they were to watch the sky at precisely midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. (Draco had sent a letter to his mother, after learning this, and Mrs. Malfoy sent back a magic thermos that filled and refilled itself with the most incredible hot chocolate that Harry had ever tasted. He, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise passed it back and forth when they worked together that first Wednesday, and he almost couldn’t wait until the next one, just to try some more.)

It was also impressed on them that, three times a week, they were to meet at the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with Professor Sprout. She was short, dumpy witch with a kind face and a brisk attitude. Harry found her class to be at least somewhat interesting. If not because of the strange pants that they were learning about, then because Pansy did a spot-on impersonation of her and it was amusing to watch whenever Professor Sprout’s back was turned, which didn’t prove to be helpful for a learning environment and often earned all three of them a glare from Gryffindor’s Hermione Granger, a first year had earned herself a reputation of being such a know-it-all that a good portion of her house couldn’t stand her. Harry didn’t mind her, so much, in small doses. And that’s all he ever got, really. Slytherin and Gryffindor, though having been pitted against each other with imaginary rivalries, were often lumped together in joint classes. During those times, Harry liked to try and get the attention of Ron Weasley, determined to break through the barriers that divided their houses and prove that he wasn’t a dark wizard, but Ron never stuck around long enough for them to talk about anything at all.

History of Magic, which Harry had been thrilled for, turned out to be the most agonizing class of them all. He was bothered by the let down, really. For all intents and purposes, it should have been quite amazing. Magic, and all of its history, was fascinating. Harry had lost hours in the Common Room, once or twice that week, just reading and absorbing all of the knowledge he could; all of the information he felt that he would have had if he had been raised in the wizarding world. Even the teacher had given off the impression of being miraculous; Professor Binns was a ghost! A very old man who had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and gotten back up to teach without his body. But, once he started talking? He made his death and the vast history of magics seem dull. Harry never listened to a single word in that class, and instead challenged Draco to duels via stick figures that moved on the pages once drawn, copying notes from a very exasperated Blaise at the end of class.

He didn’t have much more luck in Charms. Though it was one of the few classes where they were allowed to have their wands out and practice real spells, Harry’s ‘fame’ was there to haunt him as well. Even Professor Flitwick, their Charms teacher, had a fit when he’d read out Harry’s name for the first time. He’d become so overwhelmed with excitement that he topped off of his chair and out of sight, something that Draco, Pansy, and Blaise refused to let Harry forget.

Their first class with Professor McGonagall had done little but proven to Harry that he was right to think he ought not cross her. She was strict, but also clever, and lectured them the minute that they took their seats, warning them that this was not a class to be taken lightly and that losing focus or messing around would lose them their right to take her lessons, permanently. Though Draco had insisted she was bluffing, Harry refused to take any chances and carefully took his notes, impressed beyond the telling of it when McGonagall transformed her desk into a real _pig_ and then back again! He’d been anxious to give it a try, but soon realized that they weren’t going to be trying something so complicated, so soon. Instead, they were given matches to turn into needles. Harry hadn’t been able to make much of a change on his, no matter how sincerely he said the incantation. Pansy had been able to turn hers a bit grey while Draco’s had started to look pointy, but no one did better than Hermione Granger. McGonagall had been so impressed by her work that she had everyone pass it around take a look at how it was both silver and pointy. Pansy had been put out and refused to touch it at all, while Draco tossed it at Crabbe and called Hermione something under his breath that prompted Harry to kick him. Hard.

Thursday had given them their first lesson with Professor Quirrell, something that everyone had been looking forward to, but his lessons turned out to be a bigger joke than even History of Magic. The entire classroom smelled strongly of garlic- Pansy had almost refused to enter because she insisted that her hair would never stop smelling of it if she did- and no one really knew why. One or two of the older students insisted that it was to ward off a vampire that Quirrell had met in Romania, and who he was terrified would come back for him, one day. They did learn the story of his turban, however, and Harry was intrigued when they were told that it was a gift from an African prince; a show of gratitude for Quirrell having gotten rid of a troublesome zombie. Draco had scoffed when Blaise eagerly asked for details. Professor Quirrell had given them none and assigned them a little extra homework, effectively stopping any future questions.

By the end of the week, Harry was feeling very poorly about their classes, indeed. While he, himself, had not anticipated taking off and being the best in their year, hearing the shocked murmurs of those around him didn’t make him feel much like the hero they all thought he was supposed to be. Some people had been so convinced of his innate talent that there were rumours circulating now that he was actually a decoy, sent so that the _real_ Harry Potter could attend a private school and avoid the fame. A rumor that Pansy encouraged, and often added to, just for the fun of it.

But Friday? This very Friday? That was supposed to change all of that. So, even as the whispers continued to follow him, Harry tried to think positive. Because today was supposed to be their very first lesson with their head of house, Professor Snape. Harry hadn’t seen him once since they’d had their chat in the Common room, and he was determined to do well in there and put any lingering fears to rest.

“Harry, would you mind looking up for five seconds? I can’t read my schedule and keep you from doing what not even You-Know-Who could.” Draco snapped, suddenly, fumbling with his schedule and letting go of Harry’s robes.

Harry came to a halt, startled by Draco’s words.

"What?” He asked, his eyes widening. Draco didn’t even look up, either not caring that Harry was confused or having already anticipated that he would be.

“You know. Kill yourself? Not even You-Know-Who could do it.”

"Not funny, Draco.” Harry muttered, leaning back against a wall and ignoring the fifth year that was steadily creeping closer  to the two of them. “What are you looking up, anyway? You know we have potions.”

“Yes, but I just wanted to make sure that we really do have to share the class with Gryffindor today.”

“You said yesterday that we did.” Harry reminded him, resisting the urge to yank the schedule out of Draco’s hands. As though he didn’t already have it memorized? Malfoy had practically been salivating at the idea of being in a class where Hermione Granger wasn’t going to be put up as the shining example of a model student. Harry might have mentioned that Hermione _was_ the example of a model student, if he thought that Draco would actually listen.

“Sometimes I like to be reminded that reality is as sweet as it is,” Draco shot back, unbothered by Harry’s tired tone. “Let’s get going, then. I want to get there early to get the best possible seats for the show.”

***

Draco and Harry, at Draco’s insistence, were in fact the first two in the dungeons that morning. There was an extra bounce in Malfoy’s step that Harry was sure he’d get hexed for mentioning, and so he only smiled with amusement as he settled down into a desk next to Draco, tossing two of his books onto the seats next to the two of them, so that Blaise and Pansy would have places to sit too, whenever they arrived.

“What do you think we’ll learn to brew today?” Draco asked. He’d wandered away from the desk and was inspecting what looked like a pickled mouse floating in a jar. Harry shuddered, somewhat repulsed, and answered thoughtfully.

“You’d make a better guess than I would.” Harry reminded him, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and one of the quills that he had borrowed from Malfoy, finding that the ones he had wrote smoother. “I just hope it’s easy. The last thing I need to do is mess it up and make the house look bad.”

“Don’t worry about it, you can’t possibly be worse than Crabbe and Goyle.” Malfoy pointed out, as though that was somehow supposed to make Harry feel better. Before he could snap at him, though, more students started to file in. Draco swaggered back to where Harry was sitting, dropping himself into his own chair, and gazing ahead at the board with a familiar smug expression; the one he always wore when there were other people around. Harry, for his part, ignored it. A few days around Draco- the _real_ Draco, not the guise of superiority- was enough to tell him that most of what he did and said were empty threats, backed by reasonings that he didn’t quite understand and only believed to be true because he was told that they were. Arguing with it was a headache, and so Harry just scanned the crowd for Slytherin faces.

For the most part, it was only Gryffindors who were trudging in, though he did get a passing grin from a large, well-muscled girl named Millicent Bulstrode. She was in their year, though she looked much older and like she could crush any of them with one hand. (Though, Harry had overheard her when she was homesick and had silently offered her a chocolate frog, creating an unspoken bond between the two of them...unspoken because she made it clear that no one else was ever to find out that she cried, lest she decide to test and see if he could be the boy who lived twice.)

At the very front of the Gryffindor group was Ron, and Harry sat up a little straighter, already trying to think of a way to get his attention and strike up a conversation with him. It was ridiculous, he knew, to put so much effort into becoming friends with someone who he didn’t know and didn’t seem to be particularly special, but...every time that Harry saw him, he was reminded of their first meeting and filled with an immeasurable amount of spite; a desire to prove to everyone that Slytherin and Gryffindor could get along. That Harry’s house wasn’t full of irredeemable evil, just eleven year olds who were just as excited to learn about magic as the rest of them.

Harry started to lean forward, if only to just say hello and show that they could be pleasant, when he caught a fragment of what Ron was saying to the round faced Gryffindor that seemed to make a mess in every class. Longbottom, was it?

“-You just have to get close enough to pour a little bit of it on him. He told me that, if it turns blue, he’s under an enchantment. That’s all the evidence we need that he’s been brainwashed.”

Harry’s forehead creased with confusion. What was Ron talking about? Who was brainwashed? Where was Pansy when he needed her; she had all the gossip.

Harry started to rise from his chair.

“Potter,” Draco drawled when he started to stand, grabbing onto the sleeve of his robe. “Don’t tell me you’re going to talk to Weasel, again. Let it go.”

“Let _me_ go.” Harry countered, lying quickly. “I’m just going to see if Pansy is here yet. I wanted to ask her something.

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking unconvinced, but let go of him.

“Don’t let her fool you into thinking that she’s the potions Queen, just because her mother got an Outstanding on her O.W.Ls. Ever wonder why she didn’t bring up the N.E.W.Ts?”

“You really can’t pull off that shade of bitter, Malfoy.”

“I pull off every shade, Potter!” He snapped back, a little too loudly. Harry sniggered while Draco slumped down in his desk, obviously irritated with himself.

“I...I don’t want to get that close.” Harry heard the Longbottom boy say. He watched the two of them from the corner of his eye as he pretended to be looking elsewhere for Pansy. “Malfoy is...is right there. What if he hexes me, too?”

“He won’t, not during class. And we’ll be out of here before he can try, okay?”

Harry stopped cold in his tracks, staring blankly ahead. Did they think Draco was under a spell...or, did they think that he had put someone else under one?

The whispered comments from earlier came circling back; fearful rumours that he, Harry, was the next dark wizard. But how could Ron by into that? Based on what, his assumptions about Draco’s family?

Bitter feelings of resentment and betrayal bubbled up to the surface. He’d tried so hard to be friends with Ron; to prove to himself and to everyone in his house that they didn’t have to be outcasts, and that they weren’t destined for evil. But...there he was. Talking about Harry like he was being puppeted by another eleven year old.

Right then, Harry knew he had two choices. He could go sit back down, next to Draco, and take comfort in their quiet friendship. Or, he could confront Ron right now.

He chose the latter, unwilling to risk getting in trouble in Snape’s class. He started to move away, but someone else spoke the words that had been sitting on his tongue before he could get too far. Apparently, Harry hadn’t been the only one who heard him.

“What was that, Weasley?” Draco asked, suddenly appearing at Harry’s side, his cool, blue eyes focused on the red haired boy that was standing in the crowd of Gryffindors. “Who’s being hexed?”

Silence fell. Suddenly, everyone in the room was looking at Harry and Draco. Harry half-expected his face to flush red, but surprised himself by staying as calm and collected as Draco. Maybe the other boy was starting to rub off on him. Behind them, Harry became aware of Crabbe and Goyle lumbering closer, cracking their knuckles ominously. They weren’t the brightest in the Slytherin House, but they were steadfastly loyal to Draco and always seemed to pop up when he was shooting his mouth off, ready to help him with whatever trouble he caused.

Ron went very red in the ears and Neville looked a bit like he wanted to throw up. Both of them looked behind them, to the Gryffindors that were inching closer, either to hear better or to back them up. Harry couldn’t be sure.

“...No one.” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. Harry almost laughed. So much for brave Gryffindors.

“No, no. I’m very interested in what you have to say, Weasley.” Draco said, his tone fauxly coaxing now. “Honestly. What’s on your mind?”

“ _Ron._ ” A voice hissed from the crowd. Hermione Granger stretched up, peering out at them. “Don’t. You’ll get in so much trouble!”

“Trouble for what?” Harry asked, reaching like he might pull Draco out of the way.

“...For this!” Ron announced, lurching forward and moving like he was trying to splash a potion in Harry’s face. Harry flinched back, and the potion just barely missed him. He crashed back into Goyle who, in his surprise, picked Harry up by his waist like a small child and spun him around, away from the potion, setting him in front of a dire looking Professor Snape.

There was a soft sizzling sound behind him, where he had been standing just a few second ago. Harry turned his head, and was startled to see that the potion Ron had tried to toss on him had burned a hole through the concrete floor where it pooled into a puddle.

Ron had gone very, very pale. So pale, in fact, that Harry could no longer see his freckles. Clearly, whatever Ron _thought_ that potion would do, disintegration wasn’t it.

“ _MR. WEASLEY.”_ Snape roared when he seemed to have finally drawn enough air to manage it. He inhaled sharply, once more, looking as though he was at a loss for words. “... **Never** in all my years at Hogwarts have I ever seen one student commit so many wrongdoings in a span of just five minutes. Unlawful brewing of an advanced potion, unfounded accusations against another student...attempting to use a potion on another student without their consent. And an improperly brewed one no less! Do you have any idea how much harm you could have just done to Mr. Potter?”

Ron looked as though he was about to cry. And Harry, who wanted to be angry, found himself faltering at the expression on his face. No matter how misguided Ron was or what he thought of them, Harry knew that Ron had no intention of actually hurting him.

“This is grounds for expulsion!” Snape snarled out, and Harry spoke before he could stop himself.

“No!”

“...No?”

Snape turned his attention to Harry, his eyes no less enraged. Harry wanted to shrink back; wanted to kick himself for disagreeing with his head of house, in front of an entire group from another house, no less...but, he still spoke up.

“I...I don’t think Ron deserves to be expelled.” He said, not looking at the boy who had nearly incinerated his face. “He didn’t try to hurt me on purpose.”

Draco kicked him. Not subtly, and Harry winced, shooting a glare in his direction for ruining his moment. Snape, however, seemed to take the exchange as reason enough to calm back down.

“...I see. Well, Mr. Potter, though your generosity is noted, it’s not up to either of us, whether or not Mr. Weasley stays or goes. Only his Head of House and the Headmaster have the authority to decide.”

Snape’s tone was smoother, but there was no mistaking it for being friendly.

“You.” He barked at Ron, tearing his gaze away from Harry. “To the Headmaster’s office, at once. If Professor Dumbledore takes pity on you the same way that Mr. Potter did, then you can expect a month’s worth of detentions from me, personally. Go.”

Ron gave one last, tremulous glance at Harry before running out of the room. Harry looked to Snape, but the Professor was no longer looking at him.

“What are you all standing about for? Class has started, in your seats, now!” He snarled. There was flurry of movement, everyone dashing to their seats. Harry’s shoulder slammed against Draco’s as they both took their seats at the same time and they winced in unison as Pansy and Blaise sat down in their row of seat, each of them looking at Harry with wide eyes. Harry refused to look at any of them, though, and they didn’t have time to ask him any questions. Snape launched into his lecture, as though nothing had happened.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," He began. His tone was much quieter than when he’d been yelling, but it still carried over the entire room and they caught every word. Harry, who was sure that he had embarrassed his house, desperately started taking notes to try and make up for it.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His gaze flicked to Harry and he suddenly fired out a question almost faster than Harry could hear it.

“ _Potter._ What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry stared at him blankly, for a moment. Not because he didn’t know the answer but because he wasn’t sure how Snape thought he was supposed to know the answer. He couldn’t have possibly, not if he hadn’t spent the last few days reading as much as he could to keep up with Draco, Pansy, and Blaise.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione’s hand raise, giving his tone a nervous edge.

“Uh...it’s a Sleeping potion, right?” He asked, tentatively. What if he was wrong? “A really powerful one. The erm, draught of living death?”

“Correct.”

Snape’s tone was curt. Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief, but the next question was being shot at him before he could.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezaor, Mr. Potter?”

Hermione’s hand lifted higher in the air. Harry could see it dancing in his peripheral vision. For a moment, he couldn’t remember, and hoped that Snape would call on her.

“Erm, it’s...in the stomach of a goat, isn’t?” Harry asked.

“Are you asking or telling me, Potter?”

That wasn’t a no. He must be right.

“Telling, sir.”

“Then you are correct.”

He didn’t relax, even when told he was right. Which was good on him, because Snape’s third question was even harder.

“Now. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry’s mind was blank. Completely and utterly blank. Meanwhile, Hermione had nearly risen from her chair and was making impatient sounds, like the answer would burst from her lips in any moment.

“...I think Hermione wants to take this one, Sir?” Harry said, politely, glancing over at the bushy haired girl. Snape’s gaze flicked to her too.

“Sit down, Ms. Granger.” He snapped at her. “If I want your answer, I will direct the question at you. Mr. Potter, again, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”  

“...There isn’t a difference.” Harry said slowly. He was cautious not to let his uncertainty make his answer sound like a question, again, and the corners of Snape’s lips twitched into what could almost be called a smile.

“...Excellent, Mr. Potter. I’m glad to see that someone has read the material.” Snape said, ignoring Hermione’s hurt expression. Harry turned his head, trying to offer her an apologetic look, but she was already looking away from him. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

Draco nudged Harry, looking pleased with Snape added points. Harry grinned back at him, feeling more confident now than he had all week.

The rest of the class was a breeze, going by so well that Harry even managed to forget what had happened in the beginning of it. He and Draco were partnered up and set to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Professor Snape skulked about the room, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, pausing to criticize several of the Gryffindors now and again. Harry and Draco had just put the finishing touches on their perfect potion, which had turned the exact shade of lilac it was supposed to be. Meanwhile, across the way, Neville- who had been forced onto a very unhappy looking Seamus Finnigan after Ron’s abrupt departure- had somehow managed to set their potion on fire and was hastily trying to put it out. He caught the sleeve of his robe on fire, as well, and started to panic.  

Snape was on the scene in an instant, ripping off the burning part of his sleeve with a quick tug and dropping it onto the floor, stamping it out and glaring down at Neville white declaring that class was over through gritted teeth. Everyone hurried to bottle samples of their potions, and Harry was the last to set his down on the table.

Draco, Pansy, and Blaise were waiting by the door. Harry started to go and join them, but was stopped by Snape.

“Potter. Just a moment. I’d like to have a word with you. Privately.”

Harry gulped. Looked like he wasn’t out of the clear yet…

He waved the three of them away, bidding them to carry on without him, and then slowly turning to look at Professor Snape, who took a seat at his desk. Harry approached slowly.

“Yes, Professor?” He asked.

Snape just stared at him for a moment, almost as though he was searching for the right words to say.

“...I’ve never had a student, least of all a student from my house, speak to me like then when dealing with a troublemaker.” Snape told him, his voice cool. “And you, Potter, are going to be the last to ever do so. Do I make myself clear?”

“...Yes, sir.” Harry said, no longer able to look him in the eye.

“Excellent. That being said...your generosity was admirable, if out of place for a Slytherin.” Snape continued, his voice somewhat less harsh. “And I’m sure...if you express your feelings to Professor Dumbledore, he may be...lenient.”

Harry looked back up, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

“Do...do you really think so, Sir?”

“What I think, Potter, is that you have a sense of misplaced faith in the houses around you. Sparing Weasley from being punished will not change the way that your house is seen by others.”

“That’s not why I-”

“Silence.”

Snape quieted him.

“...I also think that you’re a lot like a very remarkable person I once went to school with, Potter. I admire it, but I also caution you. You will not make lasting friendships outside of your common room. That’s not merely a fact, Potter. It’s a warning. You can’t change the way the world sees us.”

Us.

It was a simple word, but it meant everything to Harry. To be included. To be liked. Maybe it was enough to just be a Slytherin.

“...Thank you, Professor. For your advice.” Harry said, quietly. “May I leave, now? I’d like to speak with Professor Dumbledore before he makes any decisions.”

For a second, it almost looked like Snape was going to smile.

“Go.” He said, his tone bored. “I have a floor to repair. You’re excused.”

Harry nodded, once, hurrying out to the classroom.

***

It was sheer, dumb luck on Harry’s side that allowed him to run not only into Professor Dumbledore, but into Professor McGonagall as well, and a humiliated and terrified looking Ron. Both the Headmaster and the Head of Gryffindor looked more serious than Harry ever cared to see them, though they both looked stunned where Harry came to a halt in front of them, breathing heavily.

“W-wait!” He panted.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall said, stepping forward. “Just the boy we were looking for! Mr. Weasley came to us with a very serious confession- are you alright, Potter?

“No, no!” Harry said, shaking his head. “I mean, yes. I’m fine. It’s okay. Don’t expel him.”

Dumbledore stepped forward, his light blue eyes focusing on Harry and giving him the most peculiar feeling of being X-rayed.

“I’m sorry, Harry?” He asked, politely.

Harry straightened up.

“I just meant...please don’t expel Ron? I know what he did was stupid and dangerous, but...I also know that he didn’t mean to, and that he deserves another chance.”

“Potter, I’m afraid that Mr. Weasley’s fate is out of your hands. Noble, though your request is, he did break several, serious rules.”

“He made a mistake.” Harry said, desperately. “That’s all. Just...let him learn from it, but let him learn from it here?”

“I-”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, interrupting McGonagall. “This is a very serious thing you’re asking of us. As the person who was almost seriously injured by Mr. Weasley’s actions...are you saying that you would rather he continue his schooling?”

Harry didn’t have to think about that to know how stupid it sounded. But, he nodded anyway.

“Yes.”

“...Very well.”

Both Ron and McGonagall looked up at the Headmaster with astonishment.

“I’m sorry? Headmaster, you can’t be serious. This boy-”

“If Harry can still vouch for him, even after knowing what almost happened to him, then I see no reason to jump to expulsion. He will, however, lose fifty house points and is at your mercy for detentions, Minerva.” Dumbledore said, smiling at Harry. “Good day to you.”

He began to stroll off, leaving a bewildered McGonagall looking back and forth between Harry and Ron. Finally, after a minute, she barked at the red haired boy-

“You. Stay right here. I’ll be back to plan a suitable punishment for your crime. And you, Potter?”

Harry looked up at her, waiting.

“...I suggest you go back to your Common room and prepare for lunch. You look famished.”

She took off after the headmaster, then, leaving the two of them alone. Harry regarded Ron with an expression composed of equal parts annoyance and relief.

“You’re mad, you know that?” Harry asked.

“Yeah…” Ron mumbled, sheepishly. He still looked horrified with himself, and Harry was glad for it. “Listen...Harry? I...I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just thought-”

“You thought I was brainwashed into being a Slytherin?” Harry finished, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, well...that does more to reveal your intelligence level than it is of any spells I might be under, don’t you think?”

Ron’s ears reddened, most of the colour returning to his face.

“Not my best, no. I just thought….you’re the Boy-Who-Lived, you know? The hero. You vanquished You-Know-Who. That has Gryffindor written all over it. Valiant and brave. Not a slimy Slytherin.”

“I am a Slytherin.” Harry reminded him, quietly. “And I still talked back to my Head of House and then begged Dumbledore to let you stay at Hogwarts. Dunno about your take, but I feel pretty brave after that.”

“Depending how you spin it, that means I could be right about you.” Ron said, half-heartedly.

“We’ve already proved that you’re wrong, Weasley.” Harry said, cheerfully. “Oh, and Ron? Maybe...ask Hermione to help you brew the next thing you want to throw at me? She seems pretty smart. Maybe smart enough to get it right, or at least enough to tell you not to do it.”

“Oh, uh…” Ron grimaced. “I didn’t brew it myself. I’ve never made a potion, before. I erm, stole it.”

“You _stole_ it?” Harry asked, startled. “Then who brewed it?”

“Professor Snape did, of course.”


	6. Chapter 6

“ _Snape?_ ”

A bit of roast chicken fell from Draco’s fork and onto his lap, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was focused too intently on Harry, who slipped between him and Pansy just a few minutes ago for lunch, relaying what Snape had told him and then what he’d done for Ron, ending with what Ron admitted to having done.

“That’s what he said.” Harry confirmed, reaching down to pick up the piece of chicken that Draco dropped, but only so he could throw it at a second year that was leaning too close to them, trying to listen in on their conversation. It bounced off of his forehead and he scowled, but turned away.

“He’s lying. Obviously.” Pansy said, her face pinched into a grimace. “He just doesn’t want to admit that he fouled up the potion. Easier to say that it was someone else’s fault that you were almost killed.”

“Too right, you.” Blaise chimed in, from Draco’s other side. “Professor Snape is a Potions _Master_. He’d never foul up a potion like that, and he’d definitely never make it to hurt one of the members of his own house.”

Harry wanted desperately to believe the lot of them, and gloomily smoothed his fork over his pile of mashed potatoes when he realized that he didn’t. Snape hadn’t been awful to Harry, no...but there was still the occasional, glint in his eyes that gave him the feeling that, for whatever reason, Severus Snape did not like him.

“That all sounds...logical,” Harry admitted, glancing to either side of himself. “But, you didn’t hear what Ron said _before_ he threw it at me. When he was talking to Neville, he made it sound like he was either instructions about the potion or had overheard someone talking about. Ron said, “He told me that if it turns blue, he’s under an enchantment.” If he’d only read about it, wouldn’t he have said so?”

“...Maybe.” Pansy relented, still unconvinced. She lazily twirled her fork in her pasta and then gestured with it at Harry, splattering alfredo sauce against his glasses. “But, when would he have had time to be around Snape? Today was our first class, and I highly doubt that he’d be giving a blood traitor any extra lessons beforehand. He’s not even in Slytherin.”

“A...what?” Harry asked, distracted enough by the term ‘Blood traitor’ to let his curiosity go...for the time being.

“Blood traitor.” Draco said, managing to get the next piece of chicken into his mouth, that time. “You know. Purebloods who prefer muggle borns to their own kind? It’s disgusting. They turn their back on our ways.”

“...I wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for people like that.” Harry said, quietly. Draco looked aghast, as though he’d forgotten that Harry wasn’t a pureblood, like the rest of them. An uneasy silence fell over the four of them, and Harry internally berated himself. He wasn’t wrong, he knew. His mother had been muggleborn. But, he did know that pointing that out what something that no right-minded Slytherin ever did.

“...Well, whatever the status of Weasley, I think we can all agree that he’d just trying to frame Snape.” Blaise said, evenly, after the silence had stretched on too long. “He’s probably just mad because Snape sent him to see the Headmaster. What better way to get back at him than to claim that he was the one who made the potion in the first place?”

Harry looked ahead, at the Gryffindor table, finding Ron seated next to Neville Longbottom, as usual. He could only see the back of Weasley’s head, but he seemed glum. Maybe Blaise was right. After all, Snape had held him back after class to tell him that he could, likely, keep Ron from being expelled. Why would he do that if he had been the one to suggest it? Wouldn’t it be easier to just get rid of Ron if he failed?

“I think I’m full.” Harry said, firmly, as he pushed his plate away.

“You hardly ate anything, Harry.” Pansy said, looking disapprovingly up at him.

“And you’re going to need your strength, Harry.” Draco mentioned. “You know, since Weasley is trying to kill you.”

Draco’s joke was rewarded with a handful of mashed potatoes being tossed into his face. He sputtered, gravy dripping off of his nose, and Pansy grinned impishly as she wiped off her hands.

“...Oops?” She asked. Harry leaned back, just seconds before Draco lunged across the table with a piece of particularly greasy bacon in his hands, wiping it against her face as she squealed.

Blaise and Harry shared a look of mutual exasperation.

“So much for Slytherin’s dignity…”

 

***

 

As soon as they got back to the common room, both Draco and Pansy excused themselves for a shower. Pansy lamented that she’d never be able to wash off all of the bacon grease that was making her face shine and Malfoy looked like he might scream when he saw his reflection and realized how much gravy was actually in his hair.

Blaise and Harry, however, had managed to escape the foodfight, mostly unscathed. Harry needed to clean flecks of food off of his glasses, though, and Blaise needed to change out of his pumpkin juice soaked robes. While he disappeared to do that, Harry dropped himself down onto the couch, next to Millicent, and spoke conversationally.

“‘Lo, Millie.” He said. He noticed that she was reading something, but couldn’t tell what with his glasses off. “What are you reading?”

“Daily Prophet.” Millicent said. She sounded annoyed. “Can’t you rea- oh. Took your eyes off, did you?”

Her tone became slightly more conversational, and Harry grinned in her blurry direction.

“Someone broke into Gringotts,” She continued. “My father wrote me about it- he works with them, you know- but I almost didn’t believe it until I saw the story. You have to mad to try and steal from Goblins. Or extremely desperate.”

Harry put his glasses back on his face, grimacing as he recalled his visit to Gringotts. He didn’t need to have a family member working there to know that. Griphook, the goblin who had taken him to his vault, had made that clear enough. What he didn’t understand, though, is how anyone could have broken into one of the vaults. Griphook had shown him that a goblin could open the vault, and that anyone else who tried would die in the process.

“Can I see that?” Harry asked. Millicent huffed, again, but handed it over.

“Here. I was done, anyway. Going to go see if Crabbe wants to play Gobstones, again. He’s not good at it, but it’s fun to watch his face when he gets sprayed. See you later, Potter.”

She stalked off, just in time for Blaise to swoop down and take her spot, gazing curiously at the article that Harry was reading.

“Break in at Gringotts? You’d have to be mad to try and-”

“Rob them? Yeah, I know, Millicent’s just said.” Harry muttered, somewhat disinterested.

 

**BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS: LATEST**

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July,_  
_widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

 _Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault_ _  
_ _that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

  
_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if_ _  
you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

 **More on page 38** : _Are your Galleons safe in the hands of Goblins?_

 

“That happened on my birthday.” Harry said, slowly, startled by that fact. “I could have been in there when it was happening; it was the same day that I was out getting my supplies.”

“Wicked.” Blaise said, his grin widening. “Maybe you saw the thief. Can you imagine the story if you’d somehow stopped him? “Child-star Harry Potter amazes us again by stopping foolhardy thief! How the boy who stopped You-Know-Who is looking out for _you._ ”

Harry smacked Blaise with the newspage, though only half-heartedly. He knew it probably didn’t mean anything, that he and Hagrid had been there...but, he couldn’t stop thinking that it might have. After all, Hagrid had that mysterious task given to him by Dumbledore, emptying a vault of that grubby, little package. The news had said that the vault had been emptied, that same day! Had Hagrid removed what the thief was looking for?

 

***

 

Potions had been their only class of the day, and for that, Harry was extremely grateful. The excitement of his near death experience and the food fight had worn him out, and they did somehow have quite a lot of homework for it only having been their first week at Hogwarts. Once Draco had finally pulled himself out of the shower, deeming his hair clean enough, the two of them headed to the dorm rooms with the intent to work their their homework together, but somehow just ended up lounging on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and chatting quietly.

“You know, if Weasley really had hurt you with that potion, I would have avenged you.” Draco said, his tone surprisingly serious. So much so that Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll bet, Malfoy. What would you have done, hm?”

“I don’t know, _now_ , but if it had happened, I would have thought of something.”

“I think Snape would have beaten you to it. Did you see how angry he was?”

“Yeah. Father says he’s always like that, though. Really likes to give us an easier time because everyone else hates Slytherin so much.”

Draco’s tone darkened.

“They’re just jealous. Everyone knows that Slytherin has all the students who are full of ambition and real power.”

Harry made a noncommittal sound, leaving Draco to decide what it meant. That was safer, he thought, than telling Draco that he’d almost asked the hat to sort him into a different house.

“...You really think Purebloods are better than everyone else?” Harry asked, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. Sure, he carefully avoided one fight and then casually launched himself into another one. Typical.

“...I don’t know.” Draco said, surprising Harry with how uncertain he sounded. “My mother and father have always said so. ‘Sides, Muggles are awful, aren’t they? Burning witches and wizards for their talents. Drowning them, even. And making them look so ugly in their stories. They hate us just as much as we hate them.”

Harry frowned. He’d never thought about that, but he supposed Draco had a point. The Dursleys for one, probably would have burned him at the stake if they had been any less rational- Harry’s eye gave a funny little twitch when he thought of them and ‘rational’ in the same sentence- but, surely, that didn’t mean every muggle was like that? Was it fair to look at all of them like that?

“They can’t all be mad. Just look how many Muggleborns come to school. If they hated wizards just as much as some wizards hate them, wouldn’t there be no muggleborns here at all?” Harry reasoned.

Draco sat upright, frowning.

“You don’t understand. They’re just...worse than us, alright? We’re better, because we have magic. Purebred magic. That makes us more powerful.”

“But-”

“I’m tired.” Draco interrupted. “I think I’m going to have a nap before dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry said, realizing that he had gone too far. A blush of shame crept through his face and he slid off of Draco’s bed. “See you later?”

“Mm.” Draco hummed, yanking the blankets over himself. Silence fell, heavy and weighing on Harry like a physical thing. Unable to bear the tension, he slipped out of the dormitory and made his way to the Common Room. Blaise and Pansy were playing chess, and he almost considered going to chat with them. But, fearful that he’d upset them too, he simply slipped out of the Common Room.

 

***

 

Harry wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, but he didn’t realize that until he was halfway down the hall and faced with a corridor that split off into three directions. He could go to the library, he reasoned. Get some quiet, and maybe read a few books to help him with his studies, but a simple sense of laziness struck that option out before he could even really consider it. He could go to the Owlrey and visit with Hedwig. Maybe send a letter?

No. Who would he write to? Aunt Petunia? Yeah, that’d be a real laugh. They’d probably burn any letters from him. Suddenly, Harry had to swallow back against a hard lump in his throat and, for the first time since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, he realized he was homesick. Not for the home he came from, no, but for the home he reckoned he should have had, if he wasn’t Harry Potter, the boy who lived. If he was just...normal. If he didn’t have any of this fame, he could write to James and Lily Potter, and ask them all these questions. Or maybe he wouldn’t even _have_ these questions. He’d just know the things he was supposed to know, and he’d be writing them to tell them about his lessons or the friends he’d made. And they’d send care packages like the Malfoys sent to Draco.

“Potter?”

Harry jumped at Professor Snape’s voice, hurriedly pressing his glasses up so that he could rub at his eyes and trying to have neutral expression on his face when he looked up at the Professor.

“Sir?” He asked, biting his tongue when he realized that his voice was shaky.

“What are you doing out in the hall?” Snape asked, his dark eyes briefly flickering in the direction leading to the common room. “Dinner isn’t for another...twenty minutes...Potter, are alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I was just...thinking I needed to go someplace quieter. Thought I might read for a bit.” Harry said. “Is that alright? The Prefects said we were allowed to go to the library.”

“Yes, it is allowed…” Snape confirmed, though he didn’t seem to believe Harry’s insistence that he was alright. “However...if it’s quiet you’re looking for, I’m afraid you won’t find it there. There have been a few complaints about Ms. Granger. It seems she’s developed a new habit of pouncing on unsuspecting students and pestering them incessantly with the facts she’s memorized. While her enthusiasm for studying is...admirable, her disruption has proved to be more irritating. Why don’t you come with me to the dungeons, Potter? You can earn your house a few extra points by helping me sort through the extra supplies in the cabinet. It should be quiet enough to set your mind...at ease.”

Harry hesitated, Ron’s words from earlier still in his mind. What if Snape had been…

“Thank you, Sir.” Harry said, internally chastising himself. Blaise, Pansy, and Draco had all insisted that Ron couldn’t have been telling the truth. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Excellent. Allow me one moment to check on your peers, and then we’ll be off.”

 

***

 

The hole created by the potion that Ron had nearly killed him with was no longer there, and Harry was grateful for it. He tried not to look too much in the direction of where it used to be, either, simply moving to the table where the extra ingredients seemed to be laid out.

“You, Potter, will be putting an exact amount of twenty snake scales into the empty vials, there.” Snape said, as he stepped in behind Harry. “No need to worry about mistakes. Mr. Weasley has detention with me every other night with me for the next month, and will count them all out and be sure that there are no mistakes, later.”

Harry’s stomach felt a bit queasy, but he decided not to argue with it. Ron, whether he meant to or not, _had_ almost killed him, after all. And, he’d argued with Snape enough for one day. So, he just settled into a chair and grabbed a handful of the scales from a clay bowl, careful not to crush them in his fist as he started to count them out.

One…

Two…

Three…

“Potter.” Snape interrupted his counting, and Harry looked up with wide eyes, afraid that he had done something wrong. “When I saw you, in the hall, you didn’t merely look like you needed some quiet; you looked upset. Why was that?”

“Oh...I erm…” Harry stammered out, accidentally dropping a few of the scales on the desk. He hastily tried to pick them back up, realizing that he didn’t have a decent excuse. So, he tried the truth. “I was just thinking about my mum and dad, sir.”

He looked up and saw that Snape’s expression was less harsh. Not quite...soft, but not like Harry was step from a lecture.

“I see.” Snape said, somehow even quieter than usual. “Well, that’s no surprise, Mr. Potter. You lost them at such a young age, and Hogwarts is, no doubt, a heady reminder.”

Harry nodded, oddly relieved that the Professor understood.

“Yes. You see, my friend Draco Malfoy, has been telling me about blood purity and I-”

“ _No._ ” Snape suddenly said, sharply. Harry fell silent, startled by the sudden change in his mood. “I see where you are going with this, Potter, and allow me to be the first of your House to tell you that blood status has nothing to do with power.”

Harry flushed bright red.

“It’s not that, Professor. I don’t think my mum was weak, or anything. But, I just...I asked Draco why he thought that, or how he could think that, and he got upset with me. I guess I just thought, if my mum was around, I’d have someone else to ask those questions to. Or I’d already know the answer because she would have taught me the right way to think.”

“...Your mother…” Snape started to say, speaking as though pained. “...was a singularly gifted witch. We were in the same year, her and I. She-”

“You were?!” Harry nearly shouted, realizing too late that he had interrupted again. He gulped. “Sorry, Professor.”

“It’s fine, Potter. As I was saying, your mother was a singularly gifted witch. Muggle born and proud. I have no doubt that she would have taught you to be above such simple prejudices.”

Harry’s heart swelled in his chest. To hear someone talking about what she was like she was was alive, instead of how tragic it was that she had died? It was more than he would have ever hoped for. It gave him a bright picture of her, in his head. Sort of a glowing warmth. A woman with green eyes. (That was all he knew of her, for all the times that people said they had the same eyes. His father, he was told, was near his twin. But Lily remained an ever fluctuating mystery.) A woman who, judging by Snape’s near warm tone of voice, was truly remarkable. It made him feel whole, somehow, even though knowing this about her would not change the fact that he’d never see her, himself.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry said. His voice was saturated with gratitude. “Sir...did you also know my father?”

“...Yes.”

Was it Harry’s imagination, or did Snape’s voice seem a little more chilling, now?

“...James Potter was a Gryffindor, like your mother. Pure-blood, which would make you a-”

“Half-blood?” Harry guessed, remembering the term.

Snape almost smiled, and didn’t even seem bothered by the interruption.

“Precisely. Two points to Slytherin.”

His tone was not quite normal, yet.

“...If you knew my parents, Sir.” Harry said, thinking about how to pose the next question. “Do...do you think they would have minded that I was sorted into Slytherin?”

“Your mother would have had no qualms.” Snape said, rising from his own seat. “But, now, we’ve spent the whole time chatting, and dinner is nearing. I won’t have one of my house starving themselves. Go wash up, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said, nodding once. He started to the door, pausing only to say, “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

The curt nod that Snape gave him was, no doubt, a dismissal. Harry hurried down the hall, wondering to himself why Snape couldn’t seem to answer Harry’s question about whether or not James Potter would have been pleased with the house that his son was sorted into and never once noticing that the Potions master had called him “Harry” instead of “Potter”.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time that the weekend had reached its end, Draco seemed to have completely forgotten his argument with Harry, and the two of them were as close as ever. Harry suspected that it had something to do with their upcoming flying lessons, but was too happy that Draco seemed to have moved past it to care much about what the reason was for it. Harry, himself, was looking forward to learning how to fly, more so than he had been to anything else. At least...he had been until they saw the flier on the wall, near the great hall.

“...Double-flying lessons with the Gryffindors?” Draco repeated, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring. His cheeks tinged pink and he seemed to be on the verge of having a fit. “No. Oh, no. Does that wretch Madam Hooch think that we’re the only two houses in all of Hogwarts? Why are we always paired together! Ravenclaw! Hufflepuff! Either one would be better than this!”

“Calm down, Draco.” Pansy huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “It just means we have yet another chance to prove that our worst Slytherin is worth ten of their best.”

Despite her words, she didn’t look much happier than Draco was. Harry didn’t blame either of them. He didn’t have anything opposed to Gryffindor, necessarily. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to have another class with Ron Weasley, yet. Not after what had happened on Saturday.

For his part, Harry had never thought of what would happen when Mrs. Weasley found out that Ron had nearly disfigured another student. He’d rather assumed that the punishment would start and stop with the school. How very wrong he had been! First thing, Saturday morning, Ron had been sent what Draco told Harry was, “A Howler”, a sort of letter that Wizards used when particularly upset. Harry learned why that way just a moment later, when the letter burst into flames and began screaming at him.

While the whole thing had been Ron’s fault, Harry still couldn’t help but feel a little guilty...and a little worried that Ron’s damaged ego might push him to lash out at Harry, again, even if he had semi-good intentions. He could only hope that Weasley had let go of his weird fixation on the idea that Harry had been hexed into Slytherin.

“Why are you so worried, Draco?” Blaise asked, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. “You’re the one who’s always going on about how you fly, all the time, at home.”

Harry frowned. Draco did talk about flying, a lot. Just the day before, he’d been complaining loudly about first years never getting on the house Qudditch teams, that somehow devolved into a long, boastful story about how he’d narrowly escaped a helicopter. He wasn’t the only one, though. Gryffindor’s Seamus Finnigan could be heard telling long-winded tales about all the times he’d spent zooming around the countryside on a broomstick, and even Ron broke himself out of his grumpy fugue to chime in with the time that he had almost hit a hang glider on one of his brother’s old brooms. It seemed as though everyone from a Wizarding Family talked about flying and/or Quidditch. Harry had barely avoided being knocked out of a window by Dean Thomas when he and Ron had gotten into a heated argument about whether or not Quidditch was better than soccer.

The last thing Harry wanted to do was make himself look like a fool in front of any of them. Especially Draco, who often wouldn’t let Harry live anything down. Draco stepped closer to him, as though summoned by the thought, and nudged his shoulder against Harry’s.

“What do you think, Potter?” He asked. “You ready to fly?”

Harry was spared from answering by Pansy’s stomach, which growled loudly.

“Well,  _ I’m  _ ready for breakfast.” She said, grabbing Harry by his arm and dragging him away from Draco, who followed them with a sulking expression on his face, that Blaise snorted at.

“Careful, Malfoy.” Blaise said, raising his eyebrows. “Pansy might just steal your best friend.”

Malfoy’s scowl grew more pronounced.

 

***

 

Harry was chewing happily on a bit of bacon when the mail arrived. Owls flew overhead, some dropping packages down onto plates of food, while others were well-trained enough to hover overhead until the parcel was carefully removed from their talons. Malfoy’s eagle owl, who he called Thor, was one of them. Harry watched him with a stab of bitter longing, for a moment, and then redirected his gaze, elsewhere, to try and avoid letting it on that he was jealous. 

Over at the Gryffindor table, Neville Longbottom was excitedly going on about a package his grandmother sent him.

“She’s sent me a Remembrall!” He said, gleefully, and Harry turned his gaze to Pansy.

“What’s a Remembrall?” He asked, while Malfoy was ooh-ing and aah-ing over the sweets his mother had sent.

“It’s a pretty useless trinket.” Pansy said, sniffing slightly. Harry wondered if she’d say that if it was at the Slytherin table. “It’s basically just a glass ball with smoke inside. When you’ve forgotten something, the smoke turns red. But, it’s not like it tells you what is that you don’t have or didn’t do, so it mostly just frustrates the hell out of you. My father used to have one, but he ended up shattering it.”

“Harry,” Draco said, not subtly trying to win his attention back. “Try one of these chocolates that my mother sent.”

Harry turned his head to respond, but Draco crammed the chocolate into his mouth before he could. He swallowed thickly, the chocolate not quite going down his throat, and took a hasty swig of pumpkin juice to try and ease it along.

“You trying to kill me?” Harry asked, as soon as he could breathe again. Draco looked a bit put out.

“No...just thought you’d like them.” He muttered, turning to strike up a conversation with Blaise and leaving Harry feeling very confused.

 

***

 

At precisely three-thirty that afternoon, the four of them hurried down the front steps and onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet as they practically sprinted down the sloping lawns and toward the smooth, flat surface of the grounds where dozens of brooms had been laid out. The Slytherins were the first to arrive, as usual, and were rewarded with the ability to pick the nicer looking brooms. Draco stood firmly on one side of Harry, a determined expression on his face. 

Harry didn’t have any of that same confidence. He’d heard the Weasley twins, Fred and George, complaining about the school brooms. They insisted that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or that they always swerved slightly to the left. Harry knew that anything they ever said had to be taken with a grain of salt; they had earned themselves quite a reputation as Hogwarts biggest pranksters; but wouldn’t it be just his luck that he did end up with a defective broom?

The Gryffindors were starting to appear in the distance, running just as eagerly as they had, though Draco still managed to scoff at them for it. And, no sooner than they had lined up with the remaining brooms did their flight instructor, Madam Hooch, arrive. Her silver hair was cut short and her eyes were yellow.

“Welcome.” She said, her voice just as sharp as her gaze. Harry looked down at his broom, another bout of nausea twisting his stomach. It was old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. “No sense in standing about! Stick your right hand over your broom and say, ‘Up’. Go!”

Harry stuck his hand out and, as firmly as he could manage, said,

“Up!”

His broom shot up from the ground at once, directly into his hand. And he noticed, with surprise, that his was one of the few that did. Most of them just flopped uselessly on the ground, twisting in the grass. Pansy had gone red in the face, when hers refused to move, and Blaise had to say it twice to get his to jump up. Harry exchanged an amused glance with Malfoy, who had easily gotten his to rise from the ground. Further down the line, he noticed, Ron’s broom suddenly jumped up and hit him in the face. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Once everyone had their brooms in hand- some by calling for it, some by yanking them off of the ground- Madam Hooch called for their attention and showed them how to mount their brooms, walking down the rows to correct their grips. Draco’s face went splotchy when she told him that he’d been doing wrong for years, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that she could find nothing wrong with Harry’s posture.

Harry shot an apologetic glance to Draco, but he didn’t seem to see it.

“Now, then.” Hooch called, once she was finished correcting everyone. “When I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground,  _ hard.  _ And then you come straight back down by leaning forward, slightly. On my whistle-- three-- two--

Hermione leaned over, whispering something to Neville, and startling him. He suddenly kicked off of the ground, startled upward and Harry watched with wide eyes as he started to float. Hooch, however, was furious.

“Come back, boy!” She snapped at him, but Neville didn’t seem to know how. He just continued to rise straight up-- three feet-- twelve feet-- fifteen feet-- twenty feet! Harry groaned when Neville peered over the side of his broomstick, losing whatever nerve he had and then sliding off of it. He fell like a sack of bricks, hitting the ground with a solid THUD. There was a nasty crack, a sound that Harry recognized as a bone breaking, and Neville was lying facedown in the grass. His broomstick kept floating on without him, as though it never realized that someone had been on it at all.

“Ooh...broken wrist.” Hooch muttered from where she was bent over Neville’s bunched up form. She helped him stand, her face as pale as his had been. “Come on, dear, it’s all right. Up you get.”

She faced the rest of the class, her expression becoming stern again.

“If any of you so much as touch a broom, you will be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’. You hear me? Feet stay  _ on  _ the ground.”

With that, she started to lead Neville back to the castle, leaving them standing about. Hermione had gone very pale, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Draco stepped forward the moment that Madam Hooch was no longer in earshot, his voice dripping with venom.

“Well done, Granger. Couldn’t stand that Longbottom got his broom up, so you tried to kill him?” He asked, his tone taunting. Hermione gave a little squeak, her eyes swimming with tears, and Harry stepped forward too, but only to smack Draco’s shoulder.

“Back off, Malfoy.” He warned him. Draco looked at him, slightly wounded. But that expression was gone in an instant, replaced by something more scornful.

“Right, then. I’ll just sit quietly, now, because you told me-” He started to say, but his attention was quickly caught by something else. Something sitting in the grass and glinting in the sun. He started forward and scooping it up. “Look. It’s that stupid little trinket that his gran sent him.”

He held it up for all to see, and Ron looked like he was about to tackle him.

“Give that here!” He snapped, his ears turning red when Draco turned to give him an unimpressed look.

“Or what? You’ll throw rancid potion at me?”  

Ron made a strangled sound, his eyes flicking to Harry’s face, guilt clear in his blue eyes.

“ _ Draco. _ ” Harry hissed. “Stop it.”

“Why? If Weasley wants the Remembrall back for his pal, Longbottom, so badly...then he can come and get it.”

Just like that, Draco was on his broom and up in the air. He hadn’t been lying about his skills, Harry noted. He really was a decent flier and he was soaring high above them all. Ron looked torn. He’d already faced getting expelled once, this year, and it was only the second week. He couldn’t possibly risk another punishment.

Harry, however, could.

Before he even fully realized what he was doing or what it would mean that he was doing it, Harry was on his own broom and taking to the sky. He soared, the wind tussling his hair and whipping his robes, and for a moment, he was nothing but giddy. Flying was easy. It was wonderful. It was something he found that came to him as naturally as breathing; something magical!

And then, at the shocked look that Malfoy was wearing, he remembered what he’d gotten on the broom for.

“Give it here.” He demanded, trying to make his voice as cool as possible, as though he wasn’t internally whooping for joy.

“How are you doing that?” Draco demanded. “You said you’d never ridden before!”

“Draco!” Harry snapped, aggravated by the way that he was dodging the order. “Give it to me!”

Malfoy’s expression hardened.

“You want it so badly?” He challenged. “Then try and catch it.”

He turned on his broom and launched the Remembrall into the air, shooting back to the ground as soon as it was no longer in his hand. Harry watched it soar high into the sky...and then start to drop back down. Harry, instinctively, leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down. Next he knew, he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball to the ground, terrified that it would shatter if he didn’t grab it. The wind whistled sharply in his ear and he heard someone- Pansy?- screaming below him. His hand shot out, a foot from the ground, and he wrapped his fingers around it just in time to jerk his broom back up and pull himself straight. He jumped off of the broom, the trinket held safely in his hand. 

With a pleased grin, he tossed the thing to Ron. The red haired Gryffindor caught it, his mouth hanging wide open.

“You--how?! Why did you do that?” He asked, sounding oddly outraged. Harry hadn’t been expecting that tone, but just lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“Didn’t figure that Neville needed to have something else of his broken, today.” He said, a little uneasy now. “And Draco...well…”

Ron nodded in understanding, scowling slightly, and pocketed it. He looked as though he was about to ask another question, when-

“POTTER.”

Snape’s yell likely traveled through the entire grounds of Hogwarts, as loud as it was. Harry almost jumped out his skin at the sudden yell. He cast a furious look at Draco, who had gone as pale as his hair. Clearly, when he’d pulled his little stunt, he hadn’t counted on getting caught...or getting Harry in trouble.

But trouble was still making a beeline for him, robes flapping behind the Potion’s Professor as he stalked closer to Harry.

“Mr. Potter.” He snarled out again, once they were just a few feet from each other. “Inside. Now.”

He grabbed Harry’s arm, not giving him much of a choice but to comply, and Harry half-winced, half-grimaced with fright. Ron and Draco both jumped forward at the same time, ready to pass the blame on the other, but they were silenced with a look from Snape.

Harry looked up at the sky, wondering if this would be the last time he ever stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds, again.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry potter was going to be expelled.

That was the logical conclusion that he had come to, as Snape dragged him through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. He wanted to speak-- maybe tell Snape that it wasn’t his fault; that he’d only been trying to stop Malfoy from making himself look like a prat. But, his voice wasn’t working. It was as though it was trapped behind his visceral fear of being sent back to live with the Dursleys. A fate worth than death, he thought. Especially now that he knew this world of magic. They couldn’t make him go back. He thought desperately of Hagrid, who had once admitted that he had been expelled from Hogwarts but hired as gamekeeper. Maybe he could beg the Headmaster to allow him to stay, as well. He wouldn’t even mind it, so much. Anything was better than the life he came from.

He was startled when he realized that Snape wasn’t leading him to the Headmaster’s office, and his panic started to abate, slightly, but only for a moment. If he wasn’t being expelled, then he was sure to be punished,  _ somehow. _ What did Wizards do for punishments? Detention was what Ron got, but Harry never thought to ask what he did in those detentions, apart from what Snape had mentioned about him sorting potion supplies. Did it get much worse than that?

Vivid images of the Dursleys filled his mind. That time Uncle Vernon had thrown an entire pot of coffee at his head, knocking him out cold and scalding him in one go, all because he’d burned the toast. The time that Aunt Petunia had refused to let him use any hot water, and he’d had to sit in a freezing bath for hours, because she’d gotten too involved in her soaps to remember that he was in the bath. And the many, many injuries inflicted on him by Dudley over the years. Punches the face, being pushed down stairs, dragged through the kitchen floor after breaking a plate, the glass cutting into his skin…

Snape came to a halt, and Harry tensed, waiting for the first blow. Whatever Snape decided to do, he knew he could take it.  Anything was better than being forced from this world, wasn’t? He couldn’t live among the muggles again.

“You foolish boy.” Snape hissed out, finally speaking. His voice was near strangled. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? What you damage you could have done?” 

Harry could no longer meet his eyes, vividly remembering his speech from the first of the year.

“I...I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize I was making my house look bad.” He said, fidgeting.

“Making your house look-- idiot boy!” Snape roared, looming over Harry in a manner so terrifying that he almost started shaking. “You could have killed yourself with a stunt like that. That was incredibly stupid, Potter. It was your first time on a broom, was it not? And you still felt that you should do a dive like that without any supervision? Do you have any sense of self-preservation, Potter? That’s the core trait of the house you’re so worried about!”

Harry just stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Of all the reasons for Snape to lecture him...he would have never guessed that this was the one he chose. The idea that he had been worried for him at all was strange. Why would he be? Snape, though not overly punishing when it came to the Slytherins, was not exactly a warm person, either. Even the prefects hesitated to report back to him, time from time.

More strange, though, was the fact that any adult cared for him at all. If Uncle Vernon was standing in the Potion Master’s place, he knew that it would have been looked at as a shame that Harry didn’t manage to kill himself in that reckless stunt.

“...Sir?” Harry asked, his voice a strange squeak. Snape did not seem to hear him. He was still muttering to himself, entirely sidetracked by his own rage. Harry tried to speak up, a little. “Sir?”

“What?” Snape asked, his eyes narrowing. His voice was still harsh, and Harry shrank back a bit. 

“...I’m sorry.” He said, again. To his horror, tears were starting to well in his eyes. He was overwhelmed by Snape’s disappointment in him and what it meant that he cared enough to  _ be  _ disappointed.

“...Are you aware of why what you did was wrong?” Snape asked, after a long moment. His tone was less harsh, now. Harry nodded, still tensed and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Snape studied him for a long moment, and then nodded. “...Fine, then.”

Snape walked another few paces forward and pulled open the door to a classroom, leaning in and asking a question that Harry couldn’t quite hear. But, when he stepped back out, he had a confused looking boy with him. Harry recognized him as an older Slytherin, but his name escaped him. Fergis? Fredrickson?

“Potter.”

Snape’s voice was calmer now.

“This is Marcus Flint, fifth year Slytherin and Captain of Slytherin’s Quidditch team.”

Flint gazed curiously at Harry, sizing him up with his eyes. He must not have looked very impressive, not by this boy’s standards.

“Flint, this is Harry Potter. Your new Seeker.”

Flint’s gaze flicked back to the Potion’s master, his eyes widening.

“...You’re serious, Professor?” He asked, his tone guarded. When Snape nodded, Flint turned his gaze back to Harry and gaped at him with delight. “You? You play Quidditch?”

Harry paled. He’d been wondering what a Seeker was, but it wasn’t until Flint said “Quidditch” that he remembered. Draco talked about the different positions, now and again. But, for the life of him, Harry couldn’t remember which one the Seeker was.

“He does not.” Snape said, his tone silky. “But he will. I’ll be speaking with Professor Dumbledore, today, to gain permission to put Potter, here, on your team. At that time, you will tell him all that there is to know about the sport. Potter, you will listen to everything Flint tells you, understood. It would be a shame to let such...inherent talent...go to waste.”

Harry didn’t understand a word of what Snape was saying, but he knew enough to know when he was being complimented and he perked up, slightly.

“Professor, I’m confused.” Flint interrupted. “If he doesn’t play Quidditch, then why are we-”

“He caught a Remembrall out of the air in a fifty-foot dive without so much as injuring himself. And it was his first time on a broom. Was it not, Potter?”

“It was.” Harry confirmed, and Flint’s excitement doubled. He started pacing around Harry, looking at him with new eyes.

“Built like a Seeker...might be better than Wood’s whole team, if that’s true…” He muttered, lost in thought. Harry looked at Snape with wordless confusion. This wasn’t a punishment, was it?

“...I enjoy keeping the Quidditch cup in my office, Potter.” Snape said, quietly. “So I suggest you keep up with that talent of yours, to ensure I never have to part with it. Lest I decide to give you detention, instead.”

Harry nearly grinned.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape started to walk away...but paused, looking back at Harry with an unreadable expression.

“...Your father would have been proud, Potter.” He said, unexpectedly. “He was a passable player himself.”

 

***   


 

“You’re not serious?”

Marcus Flint hadn’t allowed Harry to slip away until dinner time, determined to get a play-by-play on how exactly he caught the Remembrall. He insisted it was because he wanted to know what sort of skillset Harry inherently possessed, but Harry still got the feeling that Flint was also wondering what he had done to endear Snape to him enough to try and bend the rules for him.

Honestly, Harry was wondering about that too.

Regardless of the reasoning behind it, however, the first thing Harry did was whisper excitedly to Draco, who had gone speechless with relief when he realized Harry hadn’t been expelled. But, by the end of Harry’s story, he was beside himself and no longer able to contain his questions.

“Seeker?!” He demanded again. “But the first years never--not even Father could get Dumbledore to bend the rules for me!”

Harry’s guilt must have shone in his eyes, because Draco suddenly pushed him. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to show that he was exasperated.

“Honestly, Potter, you’ve got to learn to be a better Slytherin. This is where you gloat because you’re inherently better than me, not feel guilty because I couldn’t bribe my way on.” Malfoy sniffed. “Besides. You’ll need that extra year of practice, because I plan to try for Chaser, next year, and I’ll put you to shame.”

Harry didn’t bother to bite back his grin. If Draco was being such a prat to him, it  must mean that some of what happened that morning was forgiven, if not all.

“You’ll need a broom, of course.” Pansy said, suddenly dropping back down in her seat, panting. Neither Draco nor Harry had realized that she’d gone, and they both looked at her with confusion. She waved their concern away. “I was just off bragging to one of the Prefects about your new position on the Quidditch team. He was standing next to that loathsome Granger girl and that silly little Lavender Brown, so word of your victory should be all over the school by tomorrow.”

Harry groaned, but Draco looked pleased.

“I do hope you mentioned that Potter could have never done it without me.” Draco said, puffing out his chest to make himself look more impressive. “And, of course, I’ll write to my parents. I’m sure that they would be happy to help you get a broom, Harry.”

“Really?” Harry asked, startled. “They don’t have to-”

“Nonsense.” Draco said. “As my best mate, they’re obligated to keep you in good cheer so that my mood isn’t indirectly tainted.”

Harry nearly choked on the mouthful of Shepard’s pie he’d just try to eat, and Blaise thumped him on the back while Pansy dramatically lamented-

“Draco! I thought I was your best mate!”

Draco ignored that.

“So, when do you start learning about Quidditch?” He asked.

“After dinner. Flint wants to take me out on the pitch and teach me about the basics.” Harry said, unable to help the smile that brightened his expression.

“I should come with you,” Draco said, straightening up again. “I do know quite a lot about Quidditch. Could show Flint my value to the team.”

“Everyone from a Wizarding family knows about Quidditch, Draco.” Pansy sniffed. “And you promised to help me with the essay for Transfiguration.”

“You don’t need my help! Ask Blaise to-”

“Harry doesn’t need you looming over him.” Millicent Bulstrode suddenly interjected. “He’s going to have a hard enough time trying not to look like an idiot as he is.”

Harry made a protesting sound, but Draco already looked put out enough that it was clear Harry would be going alone.

 

***

 

Just a bit after dinner, Harry found himself standing in the near empty quidditch field, a borrowed broom in hand and his hair mussed more than usual by the flow of wind. Flint refused to let Harry so much as see the balls used for Quidditch until he proved that Snape had not somehow been fooled. Harry had done a few laps around the pitch, soaring high above. It had been so thrilling that he’d almost refused to come back down. 

“Snape was right,” Flint said, approaching with what looked like a heavy case. “You are a fair flier. Better than some of the people on my team.”

Harry beamed at the compliment. 

“But, you don’t know anything about Quidditch, which puts us at a bit of a disadvantage. Let’s start simple. You know what a Quaffle is?”

 

***

 

It was nearly black as pitch outside by the time that Harry was sent back into the Castle, with a warning about getting to the Common Room before curfew by Flint, who went to put the Quidditch supplies away. Harry was in good spirits, having found that the concept of Quidditch was every bit as wonderful as Malfoy had made it out to be. And to think, in just a few weeks time,  _ he’d  _ be apart of it! He was giddy with glee...up until the point that Draco suddenly jumped out in front of him.

“POTTER!” He shouted, and Harry let out a half-strangled cry of surprise, skittering back and looking at Draco with wide, frightened eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t breath, stifled by memories of Vernon Dursley jumping out behind him and shouting the same thing, before grabbing him by his hair and dragging him away from whatever he had accidentally ruined.

“Draco, you prat!” Pansy snapped at him, stepping out into Harry’s line of vision. “We were supposed to surprise him, not kill him!”

“What wasn’t surprising about that?” Draco started to defend himself, until he saw how white Harry had gone. “Oh. Sorry, Potter. Didn’t meant so make your heart stop.”

“It’s...fine.” Harry managed to gasp out. “What are you two doing out here?”

“We finished our essays, early.” Pansy said, sliding next to Harry and wrapping her arm around him. “Thought we’d come see how you were doing, but it was too dark to see where you were.”

“Must have done some good, though, if Flint didn’t beat you to a pulp.” Draco said, taking his place on Harry’s other side.

“I s’pose, so.” Harry said, wincing. He reached up, pushing his glasses out of the way so that he could rub his eyes. Malfoy’s scare had put a nasty throb in his head.

“You okay, Harry?” Pansy asked, shooting Draco another reproachful look.

"Yeah...just...headache.” Harry grumbled. 

“Why don’t we stop by the hospital wing and get you something for that?” Draco asked. “Curfew isn’t for another ten minutes. We can get there and back in eight.” 

“I don’t know about that, Draco.” Pansy said.

“You scared, Parkinson?” Draco challenged. Pansy bristled.

“Of course I’m not!” She snapped. “Come on, Harry. I bet we’ll make it in six minutes.”

With that, she started to drag Harry along, stomping with every step. Draco trailed behind them, trying and failing to contain his laughter.

 

***

 

“This was the worst idea you’ve ever had, Malfoy.” Harry snapped, sometime later. 

“You’re the one who had the headache!” Draco snapped back, folding his arms over his chest. Pansy glared at both of them, clearly placing equal amounts of blame on them. They had been wandering the halls for what seemed like hours, unable to find the hospital wing or their way back to the dorm after a staircase had suddenly shifted with them on it, directing them to a different part of the castle entirely.

“Will both of you shut it? If you get any louder, we’ll be caught for sure!”

“Oh, you shut it, Pansy you-” Draco started to snarl out, but Harry lifted his hand and clapped it over his mouth, ignoring his muffled sound of protest and gazing down the hall with horror. In the light of the torch...he could have sworn he saw a shadow.

A pair of gleaming eyes peeked down the hall.

“Oh, no…” Pansy moaned, stepping back.

Mrs. Norris had found them. And that meant Filch wouldn’t be far behind.

Before they could even think about moving, Mrs. Norris started to meow. It started off quietly, at first, but then steadily grew louder, until her yowling was all that could be heard echoing down the hall.

“Mrs. Norris? Where are you, my dear?” Filch called, his footsteps echoing in the silence left in the wake of Mrs. Norris’ screeching. Too frightened to so much as squeak, the three of them exchanged panicked glances and took off, hurrying to the nearest staircase and bolting up it, taking it two steps at a time. It led them to a darkened hall, lined with impressive suits of armor. Harry almost wanted to get a better look at them, but there was no time for that. They just kept on running, almost able to feel Filch’s breath on the backs of their necks as they did. An empty classroom appeared on their right and they bolted into it, shutting the door tightly and collapsing against the desks to catch their breath.

“I--I told you this was a bad idea!” Pansy panted, while Draco wheezed and shot her an irritable look. Harry’s lungs were burning too badly for him to snap at either of them. Instead, he gestured for them to be quiet and hobbled back toward the door, pressing his ear against it and listening for Filch.

“Sniff, my sweet...they can’t be far now.” He heard the caretaker murmur to his cat. Harry froze in place, suddenly unable to feel his legs. He’d already put himself at risk for expulsion once, today. He couldn’t bet on Snape doing anything to get him out of it twice. If Filch found them…

Harry dared not think about what would happen. And, to his immense relief, it seemed that they had passed the classroom.

Harry, Draco, and Pansy waited another few minutes, letting the silence stretch on and catching their breath.

“...That was intense.” Draco muttered, running his fingers through his slicked back hair. Harry gave a weak chuckle, and Pansy smacked his arm, smiling with satisfaction when he winced.

“Serves you right, for getting us to do this!” She snapped. “We best get back to the common room before he comes sniffing around, again!”

Harry agreed wholeheartedly with that plan. He reached for the door knob, ready to step back out into the dark hall...when the door knob started to shake. Harry froze, again, petrified with fear. Malfoy had the good sense to grab onto the back of his robes, yanking him back from the door. Their bodies collided, knocking all three of them to the floor when Harry grabbed onto Pansy to try to keep himself upright and only succeeded with yanking her down with them. There was a great crash and Pansy screeched with pain when she hit her knee on a desk.

“Potter, you idiot!” She snapped at him, earning herself a glare from Draco.

“Shut it, Pansy.” He snapped at her, while Harry frantically tried to shush them both. A figure slipped into the room, through the door.

It was Peeves, the Poltergeist. Harry groaned. That was the last person- erm, thing, that he wanted to run into! Draco seemed to share his sentiments, because he hissed as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off.

“Oh, great. It’s you.” Malfoy sneered at the floating man.

“Ickle firsties!” The poltergeist said, squealing with delight at the sight of them. “Students out of bed!? Playing hide away in empty classrooms...naughty, naughty.”

“Shut up, Peeves!” Harry said, desperately. “You’ll get us caught!”

“Should tell Filch, Peevsey should. Not right for first years to be wandering the halls.”

Peeves’ voice had gone syrupy sweet, the same way it always did right before he did something to make a student’s life miserable. He opened his mouth as though to shout but Harry, who was struck by a sudden idea, spoke faster.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Harry snapped. “We’re Slytherins.”

“...So?” Peeves asked, floating closer.

“ _ So, _ ” Harry stressed, his eyebrows raised as though the Poltergeist should have already guessed what that meant. “Our House Ghost is the Bloody Baron. And he puts an awful lot of importance on how respectable and admirable the students of his house are. How do you think he’d feel if  _ you  _ were the one who gave us away and put us in the position to shame him?”

It was backwards logic, Harry knew, but he also knew that the Bloody Baron was one of the only people in the entire school who could make Peeves listen. And, it seemed to do the trick. Peeves- if it was possible- paled at the thought and cursed loudly before darting from the room, seeming to have decided it was better if he just left the three of them alone.

“Brilliant, Potter!” Draco said.

“That was very Slytherin of you.” Pansy chimed in, leaning forward to press a wet kiss against his cheek. Harry grimaced.

“I  _ am  _ a Slytherin. Now, let’s go before he changes his mind.”

They hurried from the classroom, about to dash in the direction that they’d first come from, when Draco tripped over Pansy and knocked into a metal suit of armor, sending it crashing down at his feet. The sound echoed throughout the entire hall and, from down in the direction that they had been heading down, the three of them heard Filch’s triumphant voice.

“I’ve got you now!”

“Run!” Harry hissed, turning and moving down the opposite end of the corridor. They scurried all the way to the end, only finding one other door-- and it was  _ locked. _

“We’re doomed!” Pansy squeaked, frantically shaking the doorknob.

“Get out of my way!’ Draco snapped, shoving her to the side and unsheathing his wand. He pointed it at the door, snapping, “ _ Alohamora!” _

The lock gave a click and the door swung open, giving them time to run through it. They slammed it shut, pressing themselves against it, and listening for Filch. His breathing sounded heavier than it had, before, and Harry felt as though ice had been injected into his veins. Maybe he was closer than he had been, last time? 

“Harry…”

“Shh!” Harry shushed Pansy, ignoring the way she was tugging at his sleeve. Was Filch still close? The breathing hadn’t stopped.

“Harry!”

“What?”

Harry turned around, furious, suddenly realizing two things. The first was that they hadn’t been hiding in another room, as he’d supposed. No, they’d stepped right into another corridor. A long, dark corridor that must have been the forbidden on the third floor. There was no sign to tell him that, of course. Nothing in writing. But, he had a hunch...a guess, really, based on the monstrous sized, three headed  _ dog  _ that was sitting just a few feet away from them.

Harry had never seen anything like it. It filled the entire space between ceiling and floor. Its three noses were twitching; it’s six pairs of eyes were shifting between the three students that were stunned to silence. It was standing just as still, likely more out of surprise than of being well-trained. And, when it started to growl, Harry started to frantically feel for the doorknob. If the choice was between Filch and death, he was certain now that he’d rather deal with Filch.

Draco found the doorknob first. In his panicked, flailing motions he managed to knock Harry flat onto his back, closer to the great dog, while he and Pansy darted out of the room, screaming loudly. Harry scrambled back to his feet, dashing out after them, and barely avoiding getting his backside bitten off as he scrambled out into the hall. Pansy slammed the door shut behind him and Harry collided against Draco who, in his surprise, threw his arms out and caught him before he could fall.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, frantically looking him over. “Did it bite you?”

“I’m fine!” Harry said. “Let’s go!”

They took off in a run, determined to put as much distance between themselves and that  _ thing  _ as possible. They didn’t stop until they were down in the dungeons, at the wall that would lead them even further down; into the Slytherin’s common room.

“Salazar!” Draco gasped, and the wall opened to reveal the passageway. They scrambled down, finally entering their common room and collapsing against one of the first couches, landing in a heap over each other.

It was a while before they said anything to each other, or even tried to move.

“What kind of lunatic keeps a three-headed dog in a school!” Draco finally snapped. He untangled himself from Harry and Pansy, who followed suit to sit up straight on the couch. 

“Apparently, our headmaster.” Harry said, darkly.

“Did you even look at that thing?” Pansy asked, her voice skeptical.

“How could we have not?!”

“Well, then, didn’t you see what it was standing on?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at them.

“I was looking at its great, ugly faces.” Draco snapped. “Why would I care about its feet?! That’s not where it keeps its teeth!”

“It was  _ standing on a trapdoor. _ ” Pansy hissed out. “Obviously, it’s there to guard something. Only, I don’t know what. But it must be really valuable if they’re keeping that hellish thing around. It could have killed us.”

“Dumbledore did warn us about that.” Harry muttered, leaning forward. On the table, in front of the couch, was the article that he’d been reading from just a few days ago. He was surprised that it was still out. “Hang on…”

He picked it back up, skimming over the same story. Gringotts...the break in...Hagrid’s secret mission from Dumbledore, and that giant dog...it all had to be connected. Nothing was ever that much of a coincidence.

“When Hagrid-”

“The gamekeeper?” Pansy asked, earning herself a very Snape-like glare from Harry when she interrupted.

“Yes,” He snapped. “When Hagrid took me to Gringotts to get some of the money that my parents left me, he also picked up something for Dumbledore. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. But, on that same day, someone tried to break into the vault that had held it. And now there’s this dog…”

“You think that it’s guarding whatever Hagrid took from Gringotts?” Pansy asked, interest peaked.

“What did it look like?” Draco demanded, snatching the article from Harry’s hands.

“Nothing special.” Harry admitted. “Just a grubby little package. Really small, too.”

“A dog like that wouldn’t be hiding just  _ anything _ .” Pansy insisted. “It would have to be something important. Maybe it’s a weapon?”

“Why would Dumbledore need a weapon?”

“Who knows?” Draco asked, with a shrug. “Well...I suppose that oaf would, since he was the one who got the mission from our lunatic headmaster. Why don’t you go and ask him?”

Harry knew that suggestion was made as a jest...but he couldn’t help but see the value to it. Of course they should go and see Hagrid. It made perfect sense; who else could they possibly talk to about it.

“That’s a great idea, Malfoy. Let’s do it. Tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not!” Draco said. “We don’t even know if that’s what it is, and I don’t fancy getting a detention because Hagrid can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“But-”

Draco shot him a withering look that silenced him immediately.

“Self-preservation, Potter. You don’t go about telling  _ teachers _ that you’ve broken the rules. Honestly, and you call yourself a Slytherin?”

He stormed upstairs, then, leaving Harry and Pansy alone on the couch.

“...He’s right, you know.” Pansy said. Harry scowled.

“Thanks, Pan. That makes me feel loads better.”


	9. Chapter 9

Malfoy still refused to even entertain the idea that they should go and see Hagrid by the time the sun rose again. Harry, who’d hardly gotten any sleep at all, was still somehow up early and had practically pounced on Malfoy with the idea as soon as the other boy’s cool, greyish-blue eyes had fluttered open. With a few hours between them and the trauma, however, he did agree that the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure. He  _ was  _ much less keen to have another one than Harry was, though.

So, for the time being, Harry let it go.

He wouldn’t have been able to carry on for much longer, anyway. As important as this felt, something equally important and much more interesting dropped itself into his lap that morning.

Literally.

Malfoy’s owl, Thor, darted in carrying a parcel too large for it to keep a proper grip on, and maybe that was why it just dropped it, unable to bear hovering while it was removed. It was large enough to stretch both his and Draco’s laps, and Malfoy’s hand immediately darted down to give the parcel a testing squeeze. His eyes lit up and he nearly backflipped out of his seat, taking the parcel with him (and nearly hitting Harry in the face while he did).

Draco ripped the note off of it and read it quickly, not giving Harry any chance to ask what it was before it was shoved into his hands. He lifted it up and read it quickly.

 

_ Dear Mr. Potter (and Draco), _

_ We were delighted to hear from Draco regarding your placement on the Slytherin Quidditch team. As Draco may or may not have informed you, I, Narcissa Malfoy, once played chaser for that very team and it warms my heart to hear that the Slytherin House continues to make history. This time, by appointing the youngest seeker in a century. As a contribution to the team, Lucius and I have sent you a broom and have made plans to visit so that we can watch your first match. Hopefully, you find this broom to be your satisfaction. It’s the latest model; A Nimbus Two Thousand. And, of course, Draco you have one waiting at home for you as well. _

_ Please do not open the broom at the table, as it would be bad manners. _

_ Lucius and I look forward to seeing you both, again. _

  
  
  


Both of the Malfoys names were neatly scrawled at the bottom, but Harry only glanced over it before he went back to the first part of the letter and reread it. Once. Twice. Three times. By the fourth look over, Draco was starting to get impatient behind him and Pansy had started to whine, feeling left out of the loop. She tried to lean over Harry to read the note, but Draco yanked it out of Harry’s hands, holding it tauntingly out of Pansy’s reach with a devilish smirk.

“Of course you’d like to know, Parkinson.” He sneered at her, dancing back a few steps when she moved to lunge at him. He gestured for Harry to rise, too, and he did eagerly. He’d hardly had more than two bites of his breakfast but, somehow, this just seemed more important.

“See you lot later.” He said, before he and Draco took off. They broke into a run, wanting to unwrap it in private before class, but somehow managed to crash into Ron and Neville just a few steps out of the great hall. They bounced back off of each other, Harry nearly falling to the floor. Malfoy had better composure, and was already sneering before Harry could even fix his glasses.

The broom had skittered out of his grasp, and ended up in Ron’s hands. He squeezed it as he was trying to hand it back, a frown on his face.

“That’s a broom.”

“Well spotted.” Malfoy snapped. Harry elbowed him.

“So, it’s true then?” Ron asked, ignoring Malfoy completely. “You’ve been put on Slytherin’s Quidditch team? I heard a rumour…but, I didn’t really buy into it. I figured it was just something people were saying.”

“Er...yeah. Professor Dumbledore made an exception, after what happened during our flying lessons.” Harry said, his face growing hot as he divulged that information. He didn’t have to think hard to know what this would look like to everyone else. Famous Harry Potter not getting in trouble for breaking the rules. Slytherin Harry Potter, getting special treatment by the word of his Head of House. He felt his heart sink in his chest. It had been so easy to believe that he’d gotten this because of some special talent, but what if that wasn’t the case at all.

“Well...good job, then, Harry.” Ron said, slowly. “Glad to see that you got some sort of reward for standing up to your git friends.”

“You watch your mouth, Weasley, or I’ll-”

Before Malfoy could finish his threat, Professor Flitwick appeared at Ron’s elbow, his expression disapproving.

“Not fighting, are you?” He asked in his little squeak of a voice. Harry quickly shook his head.

“Of course not, Professor.” Ron said. “Neville and I were just talking with Harry about his placement on the Slytherin Team. Celebrating with him, really.”

“Mm, yes. I’d heard about that.” Flitwick said. “Carry on, then.”

Draco grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes, dragging him along as he stalked off, and hardly giving him any time at all to give Ron an apologetic look. The redhead hardly looked offended, though, just heading into the Great Hall.

“You really shouldn’t fraternize with him.” Draco snapped, before Ron was totally out of earshot. “Filthy blood traitor. Did you hear what he called me?”

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Harry said, calmly, as he pulled himself out of Draco’s grip. “You are a bit of a git, Malfoy. Especially to him.”

Draco scowled.

“Why do you always take his side? What’s he done for you, besides try to kill you? I’m the one who’s been nice to you. Would you rather be his friend than mine?”

“Of course not.” Harry said, hastily. “I’m not-- it’s not a competition, Draco. You’re my best mate. But Ron’s decent and I want him to realize that he’s not the only one who can be.”

“What does that mean, Potter?” Draco sneered out, refusing to walk another step. Harry came to a halt, too, trying to think of a good way to word his feelings; to make Draco understand.

“Ron...Ron almost killed me because he thought I belonged in Gryffindor. Because I’m supposed to be some kind of hero, and it was easier for him to think that I was being brainwashed than it is for him to think that just  _ maybe  _ a Slytherin can be a hero. I guess I just want to show him differently.”

“That right?” Draco asked, losing some of his resolve. “Well...then why do you agree with him when he calls me a git, then?”

“Because you are a git.” Harry said, a slightly smile curling his lips.

Draco glowered, but seemed willing to drop the conversation. For now.

“Come on then, Potter. Let’s get a look at this broom, if you’re done being so sickly sentimental. What do you think you are, a Hufflepuff?”

 

***

 

Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that, somehow, he’d been at Hogwarts for two months. Perhaps it was because he spent every waking hour split between his studies and Quidditch practices, but it seemed that time was moving much faster than it should have been. Hogwarts felt more like a home to Harry than Privet Drive had ever been, even more so now that the first years had conquered the basics of their lessons, they were slowly moving onto more advanced and interesting lessons. As glad as he was to be moving on, he also wanted to stay in those moments forever. 

Of course, reality would never line up with desire, and Harry was suddenly waking up to Halloween. It was as pleasant as it was jarring, of course, and he was in good spirits by the time that their classes had reached their end, and he and Draco were able to head to the Halloween feast, together. The mouthwatering scent of dinner only grew stronger with every step and, Harry was sure, if his stomach growled any louder it might sound as though that three headed monster had gotten loose.

And yet, somehow, food was the last thing on his mind when they actually stepped into the Great Hall. Every inch of it was decorated for the occasion-- paper bats fluttered around, dropping candy corn into the laps of students. Jack-o-lanterns floated in place of the usual candles, and the ghosts seemed more menacing than usual, sneaking up behind people to scare them, inciting both screams and peals of laughter. Harry grinned broadly at all, and even Draco couldn’t help but look impressed.

“It’s nice,” He admitted, grudgingly, as he and Harry took their seats. “Not as nice as the way Mother decorates the manor, of course, but I imagine the school has a budget.”

Harry rolled his eyes, reaching for a piece of chicken and a slice of pumpkin pie; something he’d been craving since early that morning.

“I think it’s great.” He said, after swallowing a bite of the pie. It was piping hot, all the way down his throat, but a swig of ice cold pumpkin juice cancelled out any of the discomfort. “The Dursleys never really decorated for Halloween, but they did always take my cousin out Trick-or-treating.”

“What was your favourite costume?” Draco asked, curiously. He scooped a piece of pie up for himself.

“What?” Harry asked, as Blaise and Pansy appeared behind them and took their respective seats.

“You said trick-or-treating,” Draco said. “Don’t muggles wear costumes for that?”

“Er...yeah. Do wizards do trick-or-treating?” Harry asked, trying to bypass Draco’s question.

“Of course we do.” Pansy said, before Draco could answer. “Well, some do. A lot of wizards live near Muggles, and not all of them bother to conceal their homes. My parents and I used to live in the middle of muggle London, and we’d go trick or treating just to be allowed to step out in our robes. The free candy wasn’t bad, though…”

Harry glanced over at Draco, trying to imagine him as a small child, dressed in robes, and demanding candy from strangers. He could hardly suppress his grin, especially when he caught Draco reaching up to swat at one of the paper bats.

“Did you hear what happened to Hermione Granger?” Pansy asked, changing the subject with a malicious gleam in her eye.

“No, what?” Harry asked, exasperated. Pansy always had a rumour about someone and Hermione seemed to be a favourite of hers to talk about.

“Apparently, that Weasley dolt who nearly murdered you drove her to tears. Told her that she had no friends because she’s such a know-it-all. Lavender told me. Awful, isn’t?”

Pansy didn’t sound like she thought it was awful at all, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“What did she ever do to you, Pan? More importantly, what could she do for you that you have to keep gossiping about her?”

“Nothing...but, Weasley is right, isn’t he? She is a know-it-all. Sometimes it’s not about blackmail. Sometimes it’s just the fun of seeing people knocked down, a bit.” She said, munching on a handful of candy corn. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Harry grimaced, but let it go. Two months had been long enough to teach him that, even though he didn’t particularly understand that way of thinking and maybe he never would, there was still no point in arguing every little thing. He didn’t even know Hermione, after all. And if Ron didn’t like her, well...maybe there was a reason.

Shaking off his uncertain feelings, Harry started to reach for a baked potato when, suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall burst wide open and Professor Quirrell came sprinting into view. Harry froze at the sight of him. His turban was slightly askew and his expression was one of complete terror. Everyone was staring by the time he reached the head table, standing in front of Professor Dumbledore and gasping out, “TROLL! Troll...in the dungeons...thought you ought to know.”

He slumped backward, falling to the floor in a dead faint...and everyone lost it. Draco started screaming, grabbing onto Harry’s arm and squeezing so hard that he was sure to leave bruises. Pansy practically threw herself into Blaise’s lap and Harry saw Ron spit out a mouthful of chicken, looking almost as panicked as the day that he had nearly killed Harry.

Dumbledore stood calmly, raising his wand and emitting several, purple blasts from its tip. The sound brought silence to the room, and he spoke quietly.

“Prefects, lead your House's back to the dormitories, immediately.”

Prefects from every table leapt to their feet, calling for attention and demanding to be followed. Harry numbly rose from his seat, dragging Draco with him. Blaise grunted as he had to physically lift Pansy, who had more or less become petrified with fear.

“How would a troll get in?” Harry asked, speaking loudly over the crowd so that Draco could hear him.

“Who cares?” Draco asked, his face as pale as his slicked back hair. “I have a better question. Why are we being sent to our Common Room if the troll was last seen in the dungeons?!”

To that, Harry had no answer. It was an unpleasant thought, to be sure, but not quite as awful as the one he had next, the moment that they burst from the Great Hall.

“Draco. I’ve just thought...Hermione.”

“What about her?” Draco snapped, finally letting go of Harry’s arm.

“She wouldn’t know about the troll, would she? Pansy said she’s been in the bathroom.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry. I’m sure she’s safe in there.” Draco started to snap, but Harry was already on the move, staring off in the opposite direction. “Potter! Potter, where are you- don’t you dare go after her, Potter! Are you mad?”

Harry didn’t listen, just wading through the panicked sea of students with a determined expression. He managed to break free, darting down a deserted corridor, and didn’t even realize that Draco had been following him until he felt his hand on his robes, yanking him to a halt.

“You have to be barking!” He snarled. “Last time I checked, Quirrell said that the troll was in the dungeons, not popping into the loo!”

“We can’t just leave her.” Harry argued.

“Will you stop acting like a Gryffindor for one second!”

“Harry! Draco!”

Pansy and Blaise appeared, around the corner that they had just come from, jogging to catch up with the two of them. Pansy still looked like she might be ill, but she was standing on her own now.

“Blaise said that you two ran off. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Telling Hermione about the troll.” Harry said, fiercely, even while Draco shook his head.

“We are not!”

“Yes, we-”

“Quiet!” Blaise suddenly said. He grabbed onto Pansy and Draco, who still had a grip on Harry, and dragged the three of them behind a large, stone griffin. They ducked down behind it as footsteps echoed in the quiet, hardly daring to breathe, lest they get caught. Harry half-expected to see one of the Prefects, looking for the missing students. However, it was  _ Snape  _ of all people. He passed their hiding spot without a second glance and disappeared from view.

“What’s he doing here?” Harry asked, quizzically. He would have thought that Snape, of all people, would be down in dungeons, either helping look for the Troll or keeping the Slytherins in line.

“Who cares?” Draco asked, trying to tug Harry in the opposite direction that Snape had gone. Harry refused to be dragged, through, and freed himself from Draco’s grip. He crept along, quietly, following Snape’s fading footsteps. He saw the tail of his professor’s cloak as he disappeared down another corridor, and Harry’s heart nearly stopped.

“Professor Snape is heading for the third corridor!” He hissed back at the three that were still standing by the statute. He started to say something else, but a rancid smell suddenly hit him as hard as running headlong into a brick wall. His hand jumped to his noise, determined to block out the unwanted scent, and Draco was right behind him again.

“ _ Potter. _ Harry, we need to-”

He stopped speaking abruptly as a low, grunting sound started to fill the hall. It was paired with the footfalls of gigantic feet and Malfoy made a sort of choking noise, holding onto Harry tight as the two of them stepped back into the shadows, pressing themselves against a wall. Blaise and Pansy crept closer to them, pulling their wands from their robes and looking utterly terrified by the idea of having to use them.

And then, it appeared.

It was grotesque. Twelve feet tall, with grey skin and a great, lumpy body. It almost seemed like a lump of boulders had gained sentience and started walking around, carrying a club as thick as its mossy legs. It walked right past where they were standing, more intent on peering through a doorway.

Not just any doorway.

The door the girl’s bathroom--Hermione!

Harry watched as the large creature started to shuffle into the bathroom and he sprung into action before he could possibly think about it, bolting toward the girl’s bathroom.

“Harry, no!” Pansy shrieked from behind him. Draco was bolting after him, trying to grab him again.

“Potter, you PRAT. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed for a GRYFFINDOR.”

Harry ignored him. They couldn’t just leave her. It didn’t matter what house she was in, or what house they were in. It didn’t matter that he was only a small, eleven year old boy about to try and tackle a twelve-foot tall troll. And it especially didn’t matter that Draco was so opposed to it. Self-preservation didn’t mean anything to him; the Dursleys had beaten every last shred of it out of him.

No, Harry Potter was only full of ambition, in the moment. And his greatest ambition was to save Hermione Granger from a troll.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione Granger was screaming when Harry burst into the bathroom. 

The terrified first year had herself pressed flat against the opposing wall, her eyes wide and terrified as the Troll seemed bent on destroying everything in the bathroom. He raised his club and viciously took out an entire row of sinks, busting the pipes and making the floor slick with water. The troll, himself, was his by the spray and he stepped back, roaring unhappily. Harry’s hands shook at his sides. Now that he was there, facing off with a giant troll, he suddenly realized just how stupid this actually was.

“AAAAAAAUGH!”

Harry didn’t have time to feel afraid. Not a lot of it, anyway. Before he could even think about running away, Draco Malfoy came bursting in after him, emitting an odd little battle cry. He nearly slipped on the water, though, and Harry had to catch him before he slid into the troll.

“POTTER!” Draco shouted at him, looking like he very much wanted to throttle him, though he held tight to his robes. “IF WE DIE, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

His yells were rivaled only in pitch by Hermione’s screaming, and Harry watched the way that the troll turned his head from one wailing student to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. It seemed to be making itself dizzy, unsure where to go, and Harry pushed Draco back to the opening of the bathroom.

“Keep yelling!” He told him, desperately. “And if the troll starts going for you, get out of the way!”

“WHAT? I CAME IN HERE TO SAVE YOUR LIFE AND YOU WANT TO USE ME AS TROLL BAIT?”

“Yes, exactly! Keep shouting!” Harry said, pleased that Draco had actually listened to him. He darted across the room, sliding in the water and nearly bashing his head on the wall. He grabbed onto the side of an unshattered sink to keep himself upright and snarled down at Hermione, who was still cowering.

“Hermione, move!” He snapped at her, trying to pull her away from the wall. She refused to budge, pressing herself flat against the wall. All he’d managed to do was get her to stop screaming, which meant Draco- who was still yelling- would be in danger. Harry hissed with disgust and turned away from Hermione, picking up a bit of broken sink and throwing it at the troll. It hit it squarely in the head, before it could even think about heading for Draco. The troll hardly seemed to notice; its skull so thick that a whole tree could fall on it without it noticing. It started to advance on Draco, the first moving thing in its line of vision, and Harry could only think to do one thing.

A very brave and very stupid thing.

He lifted his wand and pointed it at the troll, shouting the first spell that popped into his head.

“ _ Obdormiscere _ !”

The troll stopped in place, swayed on the spot, and then dropped to the floor with a huge, thundering crash. Its head was just a few inches from Malfoy, who looked as though he might faint or vomit on the spot. Harry was shaking and out of breath as he lowered his wand to his side, his fingers twitching with residual fear as he stared at what he’d managed to do.

It was Hermione who spoke first, her voice hardly more than a squeak.

“Is it...dead?”

“No,” Harry said,  shaking his head firmly. “Just asleep.”

“What spell was that?” Draco asked, taking a wobbly step back. His voice was oddly cool, though, and Harry’s eyes flashed to his face, worried that he was upset...but, no. He was focused on Hermione. The act was for her benefit.

“It was a sleeping spell. I-”

“A  _ Sleeping  _ spell?!” Hermione interrupted. “But that’s advanced charms! We haven’t even finished learning to make things float, how could you possibly-”

“I read it in a book.” Harry snapped, slightly miffed. Something about Hermione’s tone made it clear that she didn’t mean ‘we’ so much as she meant ‘I’. It irked him to think that Hermione thought he couldn’t possibly know an advanced spell. Was that because she felt superior to everyone or because he was in Slytherin? It was hard to tell. Either way, it wasn’t much of a thank you for saving her life. Before he could tell her that, though, a sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up with surprise. Harry hadn’t realized what a racket he’d made when he attacked the troll, of course, but he’d later find that everyone in the Castle had been able to hear the crashes the Troll’s roars before it fell. And, a moment later, Professor McGonagall burst into the room, wand raised and ready for a fight. She shoved past Draco, who finally seemed to have relaxed enough to bolt into the room and stand by Harry’s side. Snape was close behind, and he grabbed both boys by the sleeve of their robes, yanking them almost defensively away from the lump of troll on the floor, creating distance between them and it. They staggered closer to Hermione.

McGonagall was bent over the troll, while Snape looked down at Draco and Harry. He didn’t  _ look  _ angry, but his voice was cold when he spoke.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“No, sir.” Harry said, at the time time that Draco shook his head. Snape’s eyes flicked to Hermione.

“And you, Ms. Granger?”

“N-No. I’m alright.”

Hermione’s timid voice raised McGonagall’s gaze from the troll and put it onto them. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, white line and her voice was shaking with barely suppressed anger and when she spoke.

“What on earth were you thinking?” She asked, her words so cold that they nearly froze in the air. Harry looked to Draco, who was wearing a determined expression. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was going to be given all the blame for this. “You two are lucky that you aren’t dead. Why are you not in your dormitories, hmm? Potter? Malfoy? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Harry’s forehead creased, and he glanced back at Hermione, only to make sure that she was still there. Granger was apart of this, too, so why were he and Draco being focused on? All they’d done is save her, Hermione was the one who’d been stupid enough to hide out in the bathroom in the first place!

“Well, Professor, you see-”

“We were-- and then we--it’s…”

Both Draco and Harry started trying to explain at the same time, and then stopped and waited for the other to continue. McGonagall’s expression became more stern and Harry was already envisioning the train ride back home, when-

“It was my fault, Professor.”

Both Draco and Harry turned, looking at Hermione. She had finally risen from the floor. Her hands were still shaking, but her voice was calm.

“Miss Granger?” McGonagall said, sounding as though she didn’t believe it. Harry and Draco made no move to correct Hermione, however, waiting to see what excuse she gave.

“I went looking for the troll, see...I’ve read all about them and I thought I could handle it. I thought that would be--well, I thought I could be brave, like a real Gryffindor. Everyone has been saying that I deserve to be in Ravenclaw and I just wanted to prove that I belonged where I was.”

Harry almost dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling an outright lie to a  _ teacher _ ? The head of her house, no less...and a compelling lie at that. Harry might have even believed it, if he didn’t know better.

“If Harry and Draco hadn’t seen me sneaking away and come to try and stop me, I’d be dead. Draco distracted it so that it wouldn’t come after me and then Harry knocked it out with a powerful spell. They didn’t have time to go and get anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed at the three of them, but McGonagall was simply speechless.

“Well--if that’s the case--I…” She said, stammering before taking a deep breath and drawing herself to her full height. “Miss Granger, how could you be so foolish? Thinking that you could tackle a fully grown mountain troll? Five points from Gryffindor! And I hope the memory of this wreckage will be the first thing you think of, the next time you decide that putting yourself in danger is the best way to prove yourself. If you’re not hurt, at all, then I suggest you head back the Gryffindor tower. The remainder of the Feast is being served in the Common Room of each house.”

Hermione nodded, her head hanging low. Draco looked as though he was torn between the desire to be giddy with glee that Hermione had just been punished, and admiration for her careful lie.

“As for you two.”

Harry and Draco both snapped back to attention.

“...You were lucky.” McGonagall said. “Not many first years could have taken on a troll and lived to tell the tale. I award each of you five points, and I will be informing Professor Dumbledore about this. You may leave.”

They didn’t hesitate. It was nice to be allowed to leave the bathroom, if only the escape the smell of troll and McGonagall’s disapproval.

“Ten points?” Draco muttered as they stepped out into the corridor. “That’s all we get for risking our lives for that Granger girl? Makes me feel bad for the Gryffindors, if that’s all they get for being idiots and risking their necks.”

Harry couldn’t help but agree. In the moment, he was sure that they would be awarded at least fifty points. Sure, he hadn’t done it for the points, but it would have been a nice gesture. Especially since everyone was so certain that they should have died. 

“That’s the last time I let you convince me to do anything.” Draco said, stubbornly. “Now, let’s go check on Pansy. She fainted when she saw the troll, you know.”


	11. Chapter 11

November meant two things to Harry, one of which gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. The first was that the weather turned very, very cold. That was normal, and a bit thrilling.  The landscape around Hogwarts started to change, mountains in the distances becoming icy and grey. The black lake chilled steel and every morning the grounds were covered in frost, prompting the large gamekeeper, Hagrid, to defrost broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up tightly in a long overcoat, gloves, and boots. That sight was proof of the second thing that November brought; the thing that made Harry’s stomach feel as though it had turned upside down inside of him. 

Quidditch season had arrived and that meant, on Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first ever match after weeks of nonstop training: Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. Flint had told him that it would be a grudge match; every game against Gryffindor was a grudge match. Of all the houses, Harry had been told, Gryffindor hated Slytherin the most for always winning. (The other houses, it seemed, had gotten used to being in the background, as everyone seemed to forget they were there, anyway.) If Slytherin one, they’d move up to second place in the House Championship, and Gryffindor could all but forget any chance of getting the cup. Flint had said that with a wicked grin on his face, but Harry had only felt a spasm of fear.

No one but the Slytherin team had ever seen him fly. Flint had made it so, threatening anyone who tried to sneak a peek with hexes, and Professor Snape had even taken to looming on the field, armed with detentions and ready to take points away from anyone who tried. Oliver Wood, the passionate and loud captain of Gryffindor’s team, had lost their house thirty points alone from all the times he’d tried to get a look at Slytherin’s ‘secret weapon’. It only got worse, somehow, because even though no one had ever seen Harry fly, they all knew that he was their new Seeker. People became less and less friendly with him as the match approached, and he wasn’t sure what was worse: People telling him that he’d do brilliantly or people telling him that they’d send him chocolates when he ended up in the hospital wing.

Harry had no doubt that the increasing animosity was egged on by Oliver Wood, who had gone as far as to forbid the members of his team from ‘fraternizing’ with Harry. Fred and George, Ron’s older brothers, paid no mind to that, enchanting a fleet of paper airplanes to chase him around no matter where he went. At first, Harry had been annoyed...but then, when he managed to swat one down and unfold it, he found that they all contained well-meaning messages wishing him luck.

That had made him feel a bit better.

Blaise, Pansy, and Draco had all proven themselves as a useful distraction in different ways. If it hadn’t been for Zabini, Harry would have never managed to stay on top of his homework. Flint had been scheduling so many last-minute Quidditch sessions that he would have had to start his first year all over if it hadn’t been for Blaise and an enchanted quill that mirrored Harry’s handwriting. Pansy had made herself into a bright little cheerleader, constantly boosting Harry’s confidence and spreading some darker rumors about Oliver Wood as retaliation for his vendetta against the first year. And, perhaps best of all, Draco had taken to teaching Harry everything there was to know about Quidditch, helping him get up to speed with what everyone else already knew and then some. The day before his Quidditch match, the two of them sat bundled up on one of the benches outside, flipping through Draco’s copy of ‘Quidditch Through the Ages.”

“There are seven hundred ways to foul in Quidditch?” Harry asked, weakly, as they flipped through it. “How am I supposed to remember them all?”

“You don’t.” Draco promised, struggling to flip to the next page. “No one does but the referees. All you have to worry about is getting the snitch and, you know, not getting knocked off your broom.”

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Harry muttered, darkly. “That’s really helpful.”

Draco snickered, scooting a little bit closer to Harry as he shivered. Neither one of them liked the cold, much, but this was the only place that had proven to be quiet enough for them to just read. The Slytherin Common room was bursting with pre-game celebrations of a match they’d considered already won. The library hadn’t been suitable, what with Gryffindors coming and going, scowling at Harry. And the Great Hall was never an option at all.

“You’ll be fine, Potter.” Draco insisted. “Now, can we go back inside? I’m-”

“What’s going on over here!”

A gruff voice suddenly shouted at the two of them, and they both froze in place as Filch came hobbling over. Neither of them had quite forgotten the fear they’d felt when trying to outrun him in the hallways.

“Nothing, we’re just-” Harry started to say, but Filch yanked the books right out of their hands. 

“What’s this then?” He asked, sneeringly. “A library book? You’re not allowed to have these outside the school, boys!”

“That’s not library book, it’s mine!” Draco said, jumping to his feet. “Give it back, or I’ll-”

“Or what?” Filch asked, leaning closer so that his face was just inches from Draco’s. “You’ll sic your father on me, like some namby pamby rich-”

“Mr. Filch.”

A cold, silky voice called from behind the caretaker, and the air seemed to go a few degrees colder. Filch froze in place, and Draco’s expression turned smug. Professor Snape plucked the book from his hold and held it back out to Draco, who took it eagerly.

“There’s no rule against having library books outside of the castle.” Snape said, quietly. “Nor is there one about students owning their own books. You should know, as well, that a third year vomited in the second corridor. Get to it, would you?”

Filch stood up to his full height, clearly attempting to make himself seem more dignified. He opened his mouth as though to say something...but then, clearly thought better of it and hobbled off.

“Get inside, you two.” Snape snapped at Harry and Draco. Harry quickly leapt off of the bench, nodding, and they watched as Professor Snape limped away.

“What’s wrong with his leg?” Harry muttered to Draco, when Snape was far enough away.

“Who knows?” Draco asked. “Maybe someone dropped a hot cauldron on his foot. Let’s just get inside before that squib of a caretaker comes back.”

 

***

 

The Slytherin Common room was still a riot, later that evening. The older students were decorating for their assured victory, tomorrow. Banners of silver and green shot out from the tips of their wands and hung themselves across the room. Flint was lounging on one of the couches, loudly telling everyone who would listen that Gryffindor wasn’t going to know what would hit them, tomorrow, and one of the second years, who had been practicing their Transfiguration, had somehow turned a rat into a squeaking chalice that hobbled away from her.

It was chaos, and it made Harry’s head hurt. He shoved his charms homework away from himself, annoyed, and stood up.

“Harry,” Blaise said, looking slightly annoyed. “You haven’t finished checking your answers.”

“I know. I just...need a minute.” Harry said, offering him an apologetic smile. Draco had already headed up to the dorm to write his parents a letter in peace, and Harry considered joining him...but, somehow, he didn’t imagine that it could be much quieter, there. So, instead, he wandered out of the dorm room.

The corridor just outside of the Slytherin common room was deserted and silent. The quiet washed over Harry like a soothing tonic. All the preemptive celebrations for a Slytherin victory had been making his head pound and put his nerves on edge. He’d never felt so much pressure put on him. Of course, he’d also never been particularly athletic, before. The Dursleys never let him leave Privet Drive. He’d never been a school, or been allowed to go out and play. And, even if they had, he would have been too small; too skinny and malnourished to be much good at anything. The idea of having so many people counting on him  _ now,  _ was terrifying. So many people still seemed to believe that the sorting hat had made a mistake; that this wasn’t where he belonged. Would they all turn on him if they lost?

Miserable with his own thoughts, Harry started down the hall. He wasn’t sure where he was going, just moving away from the Common room and trying to leave his negative thoughts behind.

Somehow, Harry ended up near the Potions room. It gave a sort of warm feeling; it was one of the few classes that he was not only keeping up with but excelling in, much to both his and Professor Snape’s pleasure. As he stepped closer, he heard voices inside and wondered if Professor Snape was there. Maybe he’d feel up to telling Harry more about Lily? Curious, he pushed open the door and peered inside.

Snape was there, leaning against one of the desks with his robes pulled up above his knee. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch stood off to the side, scowling, as he handed him bandages to wrap around the mess of flesh.

“Blasted thing!” Snape said, yanking the bandages from Filch’s grasp. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry bit his tongue to keep from gasping, quickly darting away from the door and down the hall. He moved so quickly that he could have sworn that he was at the common room entrance before the door to the potions room could have shut, and he gasped out the password quickly.

“Snake fangs!”

Harry ran down the passageway as it formed and slipped through the noisy common room without anyone paying him any mind. He was gasping by the time he made it up to the dorm room, alarming Draco.

“Harry?” Malfoy asked, sitting up on his bed. His expression, which had almost looked-- sad?, disappeared in an instant. “What’s the matter with you?”

Harry collapsed onto the bed next to Malfoy, breathing heavily. It took him a few minutes to get his breathing back to normal, and then a few minutes more to tell Draco everything that he’d seen.

“Don’t you realize what this means?” Harry finished, his tone dire. “Snape is after whatever it is that Dumbledore has hidden. He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween! I saw him going into the third corridor...and he must have been the one who let the troll in, as a diversion.”

Draco’s eyes were wide, and his expression torn between amazement and disbelief.

“Potter…” He started to say shaking his head. “No, that can’t be right. Why would Snape want whatever Dumbledore has hidden? I don’t suppose you know much about Professor Snape, but father says that he owes Dumbledore a lot for where he is today. He wouldn’t betray him like that. He couldn’t.”

“Of course he could.” Harry argued. “If it was something powerful enough. Wouldn’t any of us want it, if it was?”

“Well…”

Draco looked torn. That was enough of an answer to Harry. They both knew that, if it was something wonderful enough; something that would give them power, then of course they would want it for themselves.

“...What do you suppose that thing is guarding, anyway?” Draco finally asked, his own eyes lighting up at the possibilities. “It has to be important.”

“Very.” Harry agreed. “If someone is willing to try and get past that monster for it.” 

“Maybe it’s-”

“Potter. Malfoy.”

A sixth year appeared in the doorway, and both boys froze on the edge of Draco’s bed, looking up at the older boy with twin expressions of guilt, though he gave no sign of having heard any of their conversation.

“Professor Snape is downstairs. He wants to have a word with all of us.”

Harry and Draco exchanged shocked looks, but slowly climbed off of the bed and followed the sixth year back downstairs. Harry tried to make himself look as sleepy as possible, kicking his shoes off in the dormitory, to make it look as though he’d been upstairs the entire time.

Professor Snape was, indeed, downstairs. His expression was twisted into a scowl, but he didn’t glare directly at Harry when they made it down, putting a little hope in his heart.

“Now that we’re all here…” He started to say, as Harry and Draco took their places next to Blaise and Pansy. “I’d like to have a word with you all. A...refresher, if you will. While it is...permissible for students to leave their common rooms, so long as it is not after curfew...my classroom is not a place for anyone who is not brewing potions. And I do not...tolerate...eavesdropping.”

Silence. Everyone looked to each other, as though puzzed, and Harry tried his best to mimic that.

“No one’s left the dorm, Professor.” Flint said, not missing the message behind this sudden ‘refresher.’ “We’ve all been here, celebrating before your first Quidditch match, tomorrow. If you’re looking for an eavesdropper wandering the halls, you might want to check out Gryffindor.”

A few murmurs of agreement rang out. Snape’s eyes flashed to Harry, who kept his gaze as level as possible. 

“Not to worry, Mr. Flint.” Snape said, his tone suddenly silky again. “They will be receiving the same notice. As you were, then.” 

Everyone dispersed, moving back to what they had been doing. Harry started to move, not wanting to be the last to do so and somehow give himself away. He and Draco started to head, nonchalantly, back to the stairs that would lead to the dorm.

“...Not so fast, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry froze at the bottom step and turned to find that Snape was standing right behind him, his dark eyes gazing searchingly into Harry’s green ones. For a moment, he was terrified that Snape could read his mind. But, then-

“...I wanted to wish you luck on tomorrow's match, Potter.” Snape said. “You do remember what I said about wanting to keep the Quidditch cup in my office, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.” Harry said, smiling wanly. “I’ll do my best, Professor.”

“Be sure that you do.” Snape said, turning and limping away. Harry watched him leave the dorm, before turning to look at Malfoy with wide eyes. Draco looked just as startled, and dragged Harry up the remaining stairs, to seek refuge in the dorms, moving like Snape might suddenly reappear behind them.

 

***   
  


The next morning was bright and cold: promising Quidditch weather, according to Flint. That thought put a sense of unease in the pit of Harry’s stomach that refused to budge even as he entered the Great Hall and was greeted by the scent fried sausages and the pleasant chatter of a school that was awaiting a Quidditch match. Well...pleasant might have been a bit of a reach. As Harry passed the Gryffindor table, he could have sworn that he heard Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan taking bets on possible injuries and outcomes. He heard on Gryffindor student, a fifth year that he didn't know, bet that Harry was going to be knocked off of his broom by a bludger. He said it with a little too much relish, at that, and Harry shivered. A little further down the table, Ron was saying that he hoped a bludger would get knocked at wherever Malfoy was sitting, and that made Harry frown harder. It seemed that saving Hermione hadn’t made Draco any more human in Ron’s eyes. 

Harry was utterly miserable by the time that he sank down at the Slytherin table, and it wasn’t helped by the plate that Pansy set down in front of him. It was loaded with all of Harry’s favourites- waffles with whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate syrup. Eggs over easy with ketchup on top, crispy bacon, maple sausage!-  but none of it looked appealing and his stomach twisted at the thought of trying to eat it.

“Breakfast for the star player!” Pansy crooned, mussing his hair. “You’ll need your strength.”

“I’m not hungry.” Harry said, pushing the plate away. It was only an hour, now, until he’d be on the field.    
  
“Of course you are!” Pansy said, her tone still bright as she shoved the plate back toward him. “And you’re going to eat all of it or I’ll have Goyle squeeze you so hard that your brain pops out of your eyes, because we are  _ not  _ going to lose to Gryffindor today!”

Harry grimaced, but started to cut into his waffles, Draco snickering by his side. At least, until-

“Father!” 

Draco’s voice was bright and delighted, and Harry looked over as the blonde boy scrambled from his seat and stood next to Lucius Malfoy and his wife. Harry remembered them both from before he and Draco had gotten onto the train and Harry quickly dropped his fork, rising to his feet too. Lucius fondly placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, while Narcissa dropped all formalities entirely and hugged Draco quickly.

“Hello, Draco.” The blonde woman said fondly. “It’s so nice to see you again.” 

“And, of course, Mr. Potter.” Lucius added, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. “How nice it is to meet again. Draco writes about you, often, so I feel it is as if I know you already. Nervous for the match, are you?”

“A bit, yes.” Harry admitted. Narcissa let go of a fussing Draco, to pull Harry into a hug as well. He was startled by the gesture...but enjoyed it nevertheless. She smelled of lavender and sweet mint. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, dear.” Narcissa said as she stepped back. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. Especially on that broom-- has it treated you well? We were assured that it’s the top of line.”

“Yes! It’s been wonderful. Thank you, so much. I-”

“Potter.” 

Flint appeared behind him, clapping his hand on his shoulder. He looked back to see Marcus smiling politely at Malfoy’s parents.

“So sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. But we need to be getting ready for the match. Are you staying to watch?”

“But of course, Mr. Flint.” Lucius said, his smile polite but cool. “I heard word that your father will be here, as well? Good man. I haven’t seen him in ages. Well, we’ll let you get on it with. Fair flying, you two.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry said, the unease returning to his stomach. Somehow, knowing that Flint’s father would be watching, didn’t make it any easier for him to relax. And he thought having Draco’s parents there would be distracting...

***   
  
Harry couldn’t see the stands around the Quidditch fields, but he could hear them from his place in the Locker room. He fidgeted with his emerald green Quidditch robes and tried not to focus on the preemptive cheers and jeers coming from the crowd. He seemed to be the only one who was nervous, actually. Everyone else had already played the year before and knew what to expect from the crowd and the team they were about to face off with. In fact, where Harry wanted to curl up and die, they seemed thrilled at the chance to know Gryffindor down a peg. Especially Flint, who stood in front of them all and grinned broadly.

“This is it,” He told them, gesturing to the door that would lead them to the field. “Our first match against Gryffindor and our first match with our secret weapon. A great game to start with, because we’re a sure win. They haven’t won in over a decade, so don’t waste time trying to taunt them. Get out there, score, and get it over with. Consider if a warm-up, and maybe knock that prat Wood off of his broom if you can manage it without getting caught, got it?”

There was a lot murmur of agreement, and a sharp whistle from outside.

“It’s time. Let’s go kick their arses.”

The older boys on the team cheered, but Harry could only manage a weak smile as they lined up, ready to march out onto the field and get the easy win that Flint was promising. Harry started to follow one of third year boys out, feeling like he was going to faint. Cheers rang out when the Gryffindors stepped onto the field, but Harry was stunned to realize that three quarters of the crowd actually hissed when they stepped out, and it made him feel small. Insignificant. It was no secret that Slytherin wasn’t well-liked by the other houses, but...to hear it so openly shouted at them, under the guise of friendly competition? His eyes almost stung, for a moment. The only comfort he got was the sight of Draco, up in Slytherin’s stands, furiously waving a large, green banner and cheering loudly as though to make up for the other three houses lack of enthusiasm. Harry’s heart skipped and he suddenly felt braver.

Madam Hooch was waiting at the center of the field.

“Now. I want a nice, fair game from all of you.” She told them, though her gaze lingered on Flint more than anyone else. He lifted his hand lazily, pressing it to his heart as though offended and Harry nearly laughed out loud.  

“Mount your brooms.” Hooch ordered, and Harry clambered onto his Nimbus, looking for Draco’s parents. They were up in the teacher’s stands and seemed thrilled, even though it was hard to see their faces.

Hooch blew her whistle and they were off. Harry rose high above the pitch without a second thought, watching as the balls were released and the game swung into action.

"And the Quaffle is snagged by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor- what a simply superb Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too. Don’t get any ideas, boys, I’ll be asking her--”

“JORDAN.”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Harry glanced down at the stands and saw that a Gryffindor boy named Lee Jordan had been put in charge of commentary, and was now being carefully watched by Professor McGonagall. Shaking his head, he started flying around the others, carefully avoiding being knocked to the ground, in his pursuit of the snitch, all the while listening to Jordan to see what was happening in the game.

“The quaffle has been passed to Alicia Spinnet--no, back to Johnson-- no, now it’s been swiped by Slytherin’s Captain, Marcus Flint. And off he goes! He goes to score and it’s--BLOCKED by an excellent move made my Gryffindor’s own Oliver Wood. The Gryffindors have the Quaffle. Chaser Katie Belle of Gryffindor, there, took a nice dive around Flint. She--OUCH. That must have hurt. Slytherin’s Chaser, Marcus Pitch, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger. Adrian Pucey, another Slytherin Player, has just intercepted the pass and taken the Quaffle. He’s zooming ahead, narrowly avoiding Spinnet. The goal posts are just ahead, he dives around Wood and--SLYTHERIN SCORES.”

Booing started up again in the crowd, but Harry ignored it, this time. He was too busy circling over head, looking for any sign of the snitch. Gryffindor’s seeker, a gangly sixth year with curly hair covering his eyes, was hot on Harry’s tail, following his every move instead of looking for the snitch on his own. He tried to ignore it, at first, but it got very annoying, very quickly. He leaned forward on his broom, a bit, speeding up and heading straight for one of the Gryffindor Chasers. He got as close as he could...and then dived down and under them, missing them. The Gryffindor seeker wasn’t half as lucky, and collided with the Chaser. The two of them nearly fell off of their brooms, and Harry grinned when he heard Wood screaming at their seeker.

“It looks like Slytherin’s seeker is a sneaky snake after all!” Jordan called, before his attention was drawn elsewhere. “"Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle. Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and even another Chaser to--SCORE. SLYTHERIN SCORES AGAIN.”

Jordan didn’t sound happy, but Harry was thrilled. Not just by the win but, because, he’d suddenly seen a flash of gold. He turned sharply and darted in its direction. It was just within the reach of his fingertips when his broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. Harry yanked his hand back away from the snitch to cling to his broom, startled by the feeling. He’d never felt anything like that from his broom before-- like it was a wild, horse who’d have enough of the ride. He swallowed back against his fear but the snitch was already gone. 

Before he could so much as be disappointed, his broom did it again. Startled, he tried to direct it back to the Slytherin goal posts, desperate to get Flint’s attention, but it was completely out of his control. It didn’t respond to his touch at all, just zigzagging through the air and even spinning him around as though to knock him off.

Down below, Lee was still commenting on the game.

"Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet -- passes Bell -- Slytherins score --”

The Slytherins were cheering and no one seemed to have noticed that Harry's   
broom was behaving strangely. It started to rise higher, twitching as it went. And then, suddenly, it rolled over again. This time, he couldn’t hang on. It gave a wild buck and he fell, only just managing to grab on with one hand. He dangled from it, kicking his feet wildly. The broom was still zooming around and Harry nearly took a bludger to the stomach. He would have, if it hadn’t been for Fred Weasley suddenly darting in front of him and hitting it away from the young seeker, directing it at one of the Slytherin Chasers instead. He seemed to have half a mind to help Harry, but, just as suddenly as Harry lost control of the broom, the chaos seemed to stop. It stilled, and Harry was able to pull himself back on, giving Flint a thumbs up. He returned to the goal posts as giving Harry a sharp nod, and Harry returned to looking for the snitch. 

_ Where is it, where is it, where is it? _ Harry chanted, internally, wanting very much to no longer be on his broom. And then, he spotted it. It was just on the other side of Gryffindor’s seeker, who was looking in the wrong direction. Desperately, Harry dived down in the same, sharp motion that he’d made when Draco had thrown the Remembrall. The other seeker noticed it, quickly, and copied the younger boy’s dive. The two of them were suddenly neck and neck as they headed for the ground. Closer...closer…any closer and they’d crash on the ground!

The Gryffindor seeker pulled up sharply, choosing his neck over the Snitch. Harry, however, wanted to  _ win.  _ He reached out for the Snitch, ready to grab it...but the weight he was putting on the front of his broom was too much for it and it angled down at the ground, hitting the grass and sending him tumbling off of it, He rolled a good few feet, before finally landing on his back with the broom next to him and the silence of the crowd above him.

No one moved. No one breathed. Even the Chasers above seemed to freeze.

And then…

Harry sat up straight, choking for a second, before spitting the snitch out of his mouth and into his hand.

They’d won!

“HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH.” Jordan’s amplified voice called out. “SLYTHERIN WINS.”

Cheers broke out from the Slytherin section. They went wild, as everyone else groaned and clapped politely. Harry looked to the stands and saw Draco, Pansy, and Blaise going wild with glee. In that moment, Harry felt like a star.

He’d played a game of Quidditch for the first time...and he’d  _ won. _

 

***

 

Draco, Pansy, and Blaise were waiting for him just outside the locker room. Harry, who felt much better after a hot shower and his own robes, came out with a pleased grin on his face and was met with a hug from both Pansy and Draco, while Blaise clapped enthusiastically.

“Well done, Potter!” Blaise cried. “Y’reckon you can do that again?”

“I’ve never seen anyone catch a snitch with their tongue, before.” Draco said, snickering. “I thought you were just about to vomit after that fall, Potter.”

“What did your parents think?” Harry asked, nervously. Draco only grinned wider.

“They thought it was brilliant, of course. They had to leave-- Father received word from the Minister of Magic and had to go right away, but Mother was beside herself when your broom started to go wonky.”

Silence fell at the reminder.

“...What was that about, Harry?” Pansy asked, curiously, but Harry only shook his head.

“I dunno.” He said, shrugging uncomfortably. “It just started to...shake. It’s never done that before.”

“I could tell you what happened.”

Someone else had come to congratulate Harry. Hermione Granger, looking a little nervous, stood back a few feet from them.

“Alright.” Harry said, after a minute. He didn’t know her all that well, but couldn’t help but feel she was trustworthy. He had, after all, saved her from a troll. “What was it, then?”

“It was Professor Snape. He was jinxing your broom.”

“Snape?” Blaise repeated. “You’ve got to be joking. Is this what Gryffindors like to do for fun? Blame our head of house for everything?”

Hermione went a little pink, but held her head high nevertheless. “I’m not lying! I saw him muttering the whole time that Harry’s broom was going crazy.  And then...well...I went to get a closer look and someone sort of tripped over him. When he broke eye contact, the broom fixed itself. You have to keep eye contact to maintain a jinx, you see, and Snape wasn’t even blinking.”

“You’re barking.” Blaise said, looking a little bit disgusted. Hermione looked hurt and stormed off, leaving the four of them to themselves. Harry felt his heart sinking as she went.

“She must be insane.” Pansy agreed. “Why would Snape want to kill Harry?”

But, Harry had an answer for that. As much as he didn't like it...as much as he didn't want to believe it...he knew why Snape would be trying to kill him.

“Because he knows that I saw his injury from the three-headed dog.” Harry said hoarsely. Draco’s face went pale. “He knows that I know he’s after whatever Dumbledore is keeping hidden.”


	12. Chapter 12

There was a strong bite of cold in the air, the next morning, but Harry didn’t mind. The cold wind on his face paired with the crunch of the frozen grass beneath his feet was bracing. It made him feel bold enough- or at least  _ cold enough _ \- to charge into Hagrid’s with his plethora of questions. Draco was at his left, more sullen about what they were doing than Harry was, but there just the same.  Pansy and Blaise were trudging at his right, also visibly unsettled and glancing around as though to make sure that no one could see them willingly going to the gamekeeper’s hut. None of them, save for Harry, had been thrilled by the idea of going to see the large man. But, after the Quidditch match and what little proof they had that Snape was trying to kill Harry? Well, talking to Hagrid about what, exactly, that dog was guarding seemed like the only option.

Harry was the one to knock on the door, as the other three seemed vaguely disgusted by the idea. He could hear Hagrid lumbering to it and was greeted with a warm rush of air when it was yanked open.

Hagrid towered over all of them, but smiled warmly.

“Hullo, Harry! An’ friends...what are you lot doing on my front porch?” He asked, stepping aside and waving them in. “Get in here. You’ll get right sick being out there.”

The four of them stepped in gratefully, immediately warmed by the roaring fire. Hagrid’s massive dog, Fang, greeted them politely.

“Go on, sit. Sit!” Hagrid said, and it took a minute for them to realize that he was talking to them and not the dog. The four of them sat down on Hagrid’s couch, which was slightly squashed down but long enough so that they could all sit comfortably on it. Except for Hagrid, of course, who chose to take a seat in his massive arm chair. “Now, what can I do ya for?”

Harry glanced at Draco, and then at the other two. There had to be a way to work up to what he wanted to say. A way to get Hagrid to open up to them and tell them what was going on. Maybe he could trick the information out of him? He-

“Someone’s trying to kill Harry.” Pansy said, speaking before Harry could even work out what to say. She was clever enough not to mention who exactly was trying to kill him, but brisk enough to get right to the point. Harry almost admired that. “And we think it’s because he knows that someone might be after whatever that three-headed dog is guarding.”

Hagrid, who had been leaning forward to start to pour an oddly coloured tea, nearly dropped the kettle in his shock.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” He demanded, his eyebrows raising.

Harry started to try and explain, but Malfoy interrupted incredulously.

“Fluffy? That...that  _ thing _ has a name?”

“O’course he does! Everything’s got a name. I named him myself, after I bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. Cute little thing..hardly more than a puff of fur and three heads too big fer its body! ‘Course, just look at him now. Working for Dumbledore, guarding the-”

He stopped talking abruptly, and but Harry leaned forward eagerly.

“Yes? What is it that he’s guarding?”

“No, no. Don’t ask me anymore.” Hagrid said, firmly. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“But Sn- I mean, someone’s trying to steal it.” Blaise said, leaning forward. “If we know what it s, then maybe we can come up with a way to stop him. Or, at least, figure out why they want it so badly.”

“Rubbish.” Hagrid said, waving their concern away. “You four just put this all out of your heads, got it? What Fluffy is guarding is between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicholas Flamel.”

“Nicholas Flamel?” Draco repeated, looking delighted by Hagrid’s slip, while the Gamekeeper only looked furious with himself.

“I shouldn’t have said tha’.” He lamented, leaning back in his chair.

 

***

 

“Have any of you ever heard of someone called ‘Flamel’?” Harry asked, quietly, when they had returned to their dormitory to shed their layers of coats. He dropped his scarf onto his bed and then peeled off the wool of his gloves. 

“It sounds familiar.” Pansy said...but, clearly, not familiar enough for her to remember where she’d heard of him, because her forehead puckered and she frowned where she was kicking off her boots, leaving them next to Draco’s bed for lack of will to walk all the way to the girl’s dormitory.

“If he’s powerful and important, maybe my mother will know who he is.” Blaise said, darkly. Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or wince. Blaise’s mother was a well-known widower, whose powerful husbands often died under mysterious circumstances, leaving her insanely wealthy.

“I suppose I could write to Mother and Father...they know loads of important people, most of them met through connections with the the Minister, of course. Just last week, they-”

“Not the time for bragging, Draco.” Harry muttered, snorting softly. “Well, maybe we should check the library?”

“Why don’t we just ask Hermione Granger if we’re going to do that?” Pansy asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought of extra work on top of what they already had to do. “She’s practically memorized everything in there. Maybe she’d recite it all if we gave her a Galleon.”

“Well, alright, if you think the Gryffindors can find information better than we can.” Harry said, slumping his shoulders with faux disappointment, while the other three bristled.

“...Sneaky prat.” Draco muttered, reaching down to pull his shoes back on. Harry couldn’t tell if Draco was more disappointed or pleased, but he grinned just the same.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Harry was no longer grinning.

There was a stack of books as tall as Hagrid sitting on the edge of their table at the library, and not one book that they had flipped through gave any clue as to who Nicolas Flamel might be. Blaise wasn’t even reading, anymore, just pressing his face against a book and groaning...or, possibly snoring. Pansy was flipping through pages frantically, then snapping books closed with a sound of disgust. Draco and Harry were the only ones still reading carefully, but even they were close to their breaking point. It was like looking for a needle in a needle stack: there was no way of knowing what Flamel did to get himself in a book, and so they had to make guesses and hope for the best.

“This is hopeless.” Blaise said, lifting his head from the borrowed copy of,  _ A Study of Recent Development in Wizardry. _ “Maybe Hagrid came up with a fake name? You know, just to throw us off the scent?”

“Oh, please.” Pansy snapped, opening up  _ Important Modern Magical Discoveries _ . “There’s no way he’s that intelligent. He’s the  _ groundskeeper _ . He dropped a hint and we’re going to use it, alright?!”

“Alright,” Draco agreed, crossly. “You just tell us when you’ve found it, because I’ve learned more about Potter in the last few hours than I have anyone else.”

Harry glanced at the book Draco slammed shut,  _ Notable Magical Names of Our Time, _ and felt an odd dropping feeling in his stomach, wondering how he could get ahold of that book and see what it said without Draco noticing and taunting him about it. Shaking that thought of of his head, he closed,  _ Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century,  _ and folded his arms on the table so that he could rest his head. It was exhausting work, looking for Flamel. All the hope and excitement of learning more about whatever Fluffy was guarding had fizzled out with disappointment and exhaustion.

“Maybe that’s enough research for one day?” Harry asked, ignoring Pansy’s protests. He didn’t care if they hadn’t made it all the way to ‘ _ Modern Malicious Magics’  _ or ‘ _ The Wizards of Tomorrow.’  _ All he wanted to do was go back to the dorm room and rest his eyes.

Draco and Blaise seemed to be on his side, there. They stood, when he did, while Pansy stayed firmly rooted in place.

“Fine. Just give up, you three.” She said, hotly. “But I think this must be important, and I’m not stopping until I’ve got the hot scoop!”

“Erm...what?” Harry asked, glancing at Draco, who just sniggered.

“Don’t mind her. She’s just channeling her Aunt. She’s a writer for the daily prophet and a wicked gossip.” Blaise said, patting Pansy on the shoulder as they walked away and ignoring her hiss.

“Do you reckon this thing we’re researching is really going to be worth it?” Harry asked, as they stepped out into the hall. “I mean, if it’s not in the top twenty notable whatevers…”

“It’s got to be, otherwise we wouldn’t have the hound from Hell blocking off the third corridor.” Draco protested.

“Well, that, and no one would be trying to kill Harry for eavesdropping.” Blaise added, slyly. “Well done, by the way. Very sneaky.”

“Everyone says that like it’s a surprise.” Harry grumbled. “We’re all in the same house, aren’t?”

“Sure, sure.” Blaise agreed, while Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Potter, but sometimes you seem more like a Gryffindor than anything.” He said, bluntly.

“So?” Harry asked, coming to a halt. He leaned back against a wall, suddenly agitated. It wasn’t as though this was the first time someone had said that to him. And maybe that was  _ why  _ it was so annoying to hear from Draco and Blaise. “The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes, remember? You go where you belong, don’t you? So why is it such a shock that I ended up here?”

“Hey, now.” Blaise said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. We’re happy to have you. But everyone, rightly, sees you as a beacon for good. You know, since you took down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I mean...it’s no secret that Slytherin was his house. It had a bad rep  _ before _ he came along, because Salazar Slytherin is hailed as a tosser. But it’s worse now.”

“Everyone thinks that we’re going to grow up to be Dark Wizards.” Draco muttered. “So many Purebloods supported him...so many Purebloods are sorted into Slytherin. People connect dots and hate us for their own assumptions.”

Harry scowled. That was insane logic.

“So...just because we’re in the same house, we’re all going to turn out the same? One bad egg ruins the whole lot?”

“Seems like it.” Blaise said, looking a little uncomfortable. “I guess it’s different for you. Your parents fought against him.  _ You  _ fought against him, and you were just a baby. But...some of our house come from Parents who did support him. Sometimes quietly, sometimes by fighting with him. His quiet supporters shut right up when he lost, and anyone who fought with him was either locked away for good, killed, or defected.”

“Defected? What does that mean?”

“It means they renounced him.” Draco said, his voice oddly quiet. “Claimed that they were only taking his orders because they were being brainwashed, magically, or because he’d threatened to kill their families.”

Silence, then-

“...My father was one of them.”

Harry gaped at Malfoy, his heart sinking in his chest. Suddenly...Ron’s accusations from the beginning of the year did make some sense. Mr. Malfoy had been one of them? For the first time ever, Draco looked a little ashamed.

“...I dunno about you,” Harry said, finally, pushing himself away from the wall and standing next to his friends. “But it seems pretty stupid to me to blame children for what their parents did. Or to expect them to follow in their footsteps. I mean...I dunno about you two, but I’m not wholly keen on being a Gryffindor and then being murdered by Voldemort.”

Draco and Blaise both flinched at the name, but grinned wearily.

“Self-preservation.” Draco said, approvingly. “We might just make a decent Slytherin out of you, yet.”


	13. Chapter 13

Christmas was coming and, with it, came Harry’s first ever real excitement for the holidays. Truth be told, he’d never been particularly inclined to like it, before. Every year had been the same; watching Dudley open a mountain of presents while he cooked breakfast and then spent the rest of the day in his cupboard, listening to the cheerful music and smelling the scent of ham that Aunt Petunia took care of Christmas dinner, never trusting Harry with such an important task. Some years, if they were feeling particularly generous, they might offer Harry a gift of Uncle Vernon’s old, mustard yellow socks. But that was all the holiday spirit they could afford to show him. 

This year, however, it would be different. The moment that Malfoy had caught Harry about to sign up as one of the students who would be staying at Hogwarts for the Holidays, he had a fit and wrote to his parents, telling them that he’d be bringing Harry to the manor to celebrate Christmas with them. Both Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy had been agreeable and, despite Harry’s reluctance to be a burden, Draco convinced him that he had no choice but to go. They’d be leaving tomorrow and, until then, they’d have the Common Room all to themselves-- everyone else had already gone home. Harry and Draco took full advantage of that, curling up on the nicest couch, directly in front of the fire, and absently crumpling up bits of paper to toss into the flames. Draco kept enchanting his, so that the fire would change colours as it burned through the parchment.

“You’re going to love the manor.” Draco told him, his tone earnest rather than boastful. Harry had quickly found that Malfoy was much less...well, just less when they were by themselves. He didn’t put on a show and he rarely bragged about anything. Well, not the way he usually did, anyway. “It’s been in our family for generations.”

Harry politely refrained from telling Malfoy that he’d already said that,  and instead tossed another piece of parchment into the fire and slumped further down onto the couch. Draco’s legs were sprawled over his lap, so he’d been careful not to move too much and disturb the Malfoy heir, who was still describing the different rooms. Harry stared into the fire as Malfoy starting to explain why he chose the style of bed that he did, hardly hearing him. It seemed strange to him that such a place could exist. He thought of every home as looking or feeling like the Dursley’s had. Spotless. Smartly decorated. Too bright and clean for him to be around, certainly. All Aunt Petunia ever did was shriek at him for tracking mud in, for not washing plates well enough, for splattering bacon grease on the stove. Supposed Narcissa took one look at him, standing in her home, and realized what a mistake it was?

“Harry.”

Draco snapped petulantly at him, poking him in the side of the head with the end of his wand. Harry hissed, surprised by how sharp the jab was, and shot Malfoy a wounded expression.

“What was that for?” He asked, rubbing the side of his head.

“You weren’t listening to me.” Draco sniffed, folding his arms over his chest. “I almost felt like a teacher.”

“You? A teacher?”

Harry couldn’t help but snort. The idea of Draco trying to teach anyone,  _ anything _ struck him as odd and out of place. He didn’t have enough patience. Draco ignored Harry’s laughter, just sitting up right and nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own.

“I did ask you a question, Potter.” He said, sounding just slightly put out.

“You did?” Harry asked, surprised. “What was it?”

“I asked what you usually did for Christmas. You know...with the muggles.”

He grimaced, as though the words left a dirty taste in his mouth, but Harry just ignored it. He didn’t like the Dursleys enough to defend them from Draco’s prejudice...which, he supposed, was quite nasty of him. ( _ Draco shouldn’t hate the Dursleys for being muggles, he knew. He should hate them for how they treated Harry, but that was a discussion for another time. _ )

“I didn’t really celebrate with them,” Harry said, truthfully. Something inside of him twinged when he said it; flinching back from talking about the Dursleys in the same way that he did whenever Uncle Vernon suddenly lifted his hand in Harry’s direction. But, what harm could it do to tell Draco? He’d never meet them. The muggle world felt as though it was light years away. “But, I s’pose they do all the normal things. Decorate the tree, leave cookies out, unwrap presents and then have a meal as a family. My cousin Dudley always got a mountain of gifts.”

“What did you do on Christmas, if you didn’t celebrate with them?” Draco asked, looking curiously over at Harry, who shrugged.

“Cleaned, mostly.”

Harry looked back to the fire, missing the way that Draco frowned. He gently pulled himself away from the other boy, rising to his feet and yawning. They’d have an early morning, he knew. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had made some arrangement for them to be sent to the manor, though Harry had no idea what it was and didn’t think to ask Draco-- the idea of leaving put too many knots in his stomach as it was.

“I’m going to head to bed,” He decided, looking back at Draco. “Are you coming?”

“In a bit.” Draco decided, looking back to the fire and tossing another piece of paper in. The flames turned a deep purple, and Harry grinned with amusement. “I’m going to enjoy having the common room to myself, for a while. Now that those stuck up fifth years aren’t around to pretend that they own the place. Wait until I tell father about  _ them _ .”

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco was always insisting that Lucius Malfoy could take care of anyone or anything that displeased him, though there’d been no real evidence of that before. Almost every threat Draco ever made was an empty one, backed by only the vague idea that everyone had about who he and his family were.

“Well...night then.” Harry said, shuffling to the stairs.

“Night, Potter.”

 

***

 

Harry awoke with a start in the middle of the night, breathing heavily. The nightmare that had startled him awake had been forgotten the second that his eyes had opened, but the pounding of his heart and the pain in his head lingered. He sat up in bed, grabbing his glasses off of the nightstand, and looking over to Draco. He was fast asleep, curled up into himself with the sheets pulled up to his nose. His presence was soothing, and Harry started to fall back against the bed...but then sat up again, too alert to even think about going back to sleep. He climbed quietly out of bed, pulling his robes on and padding silently down into the common room. The fire was still going, though it was one the verge of dying out, and the scraps of paper that they had left littering the couch had disappeared. In fact, the entire room seemed tidier, even by the dying light of the fire. He’d never thought about how that happened: how his bed was made every morning, how everything was so clean all the time...maybe the room at Hogwarts were self-cleaning. Suppose there was a charm for that? Maybe he could learn it and use it at the Dursleys?

But, no. They weren’t allowed to do magic outside of school. And, anyway, Aunt Petunia would throw a fit if he even thought of charming her house to clean itself. Harry shook the thought out of his head and knelt down next to the fire, trying to warm himself. But even that made him feel restless. Caged. The entire place was too empty and quiet.

Discontented, Harry got back up and, for no reason at all, walked over to the passageway that would lead him out of the Common Room. He knew better; students weren’t allowed out, this late...but with everyone gone, who would care to notice if one of the students wandered just a bit to clear his head? He started to push open the door.

“Potter!”

Draco suddenly hissed from right behind him, and he whirled around. He hadn’t even heard Malfoy leave the dorm, but there he was, standing just a few inches behind him.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, looking at him suspiciously. Harry didn’t have much of an answer for him.

“Just going for a walk.” He muttered, pushing open the door. The passageway burst open at his first touch to the wall that the door opened up to. “I couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, right.” Draco said, his voice suddenly a sneer. “I bet you’re going to meet with Weasley. I heard that he and his brothers were staying. Probably couldn’t afford to go home for the holidays. What about him is so interesting to you, Potter?”

“Ron’s still here?” Harry asked, startled. He actually didn’t know that any of the Weasleys had stayed at Hogwarts.

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know.” Draco snapped, but Harry just rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to meet up with Ron. I just need some air.”

“There’s air in the common room!”

Harry ignored that, and kept walking down the passage. He heard Draco walking behind him, muttering to himself about blood traitors and sneaking around.

“If you’re  _ not _ going to meet Weasley, then you won’t mind if I tag along.” He then insisted, when Harry asked  _ why  _ he was following him. Harry didn’t bother to argue, simply letting Draco follow after him. He had no particular destination in mind, not when he left, just wanting out of the shadowy dungeons. They argued hotly with each other in whispers, exchanging insults between Draco insisting that Ron was a no good blood traitor and Harry snapping at him for using that term. 

  
“I don’t know why you’re so keen on him,” Draco was saying, not put off in the slightest by Harry’s annoyance. “He did almost kill you! Why do I have to keep reminding you that you nearly had your face melted off because he can’t believe anyone who isn’t a blood traitor would possibly want you to be alive? He thinks I brainwashed you. Like I’m not capable of making friends? Like no one would want to be friends with me of their own free will? And why does he think that? Because he’s poor and unhappy and hates anyone who is better than him, that’s why. I-”

“Draco!” Harry interrupted. He clapped his hand over Draco’s mouth, silencing him. “Shut up.”

Malfoy looked offended, and like he might try and bite Harry, but calmed down considerably when he heard what Harry already had: Filch’s voice, echoing loudly down the corridor. The caretaker was muttering to himself about something that Peeves had done, and the two boys exchanged a look. Last time they’d had a run in with Filch, they’d nearly been torn apart by that three headed dog. Terrified of having to run from the man, again, Harry dragged Draco into a classroom that was sitting into the library; a deserted place that was actually  _ safe.  _ They shut the door quickly, and Draco pointed his wand at the lock. 

“Obfirmo!” He whispered, and the lock clicked. He looked to Harry. “He’d need a wand to get in, but all that squib has are some useless keys.” 

Harry, who might have defended Filch from Draco’s prejudice- despite thinking that the caretaker was unpleasant- was too distracted by the large mirror that was standing in the center of the room, in place of desks. It was full-length and grand, ornately carved and somewhat ominous in the way that it reflected the moonlight. Curious, Harry stepped a little closer to it. 

“What’s that?” Draco asked, stepping closer too. His eyes were drawn to the inscription at the top, the one Harry had missed. He spoke the words slowly. “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi...hang on…” 

Harry wasn’t listening. There was something strange about his reflection. Something-

“I...show...not your face...but your heart’s desire.” Draco said, his voice oddly strained, as he tried to read the inscription backwards. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Harry looked back behind himself, with wide eyes. He didn’t look at Draco, no, but rather at the empty space behind him.  _ Empty space. _

“...I think I know.” Harry said, dazed, as he looked back at the mirror. It didn’t show only his reflection, but the reflections of dozens of people, all crowded around behind him. His eyes were immediately drawn to the woman who seemed to be standing on his left; a very pretty, young woman with red hair hanging down to her waist and a sad smile on her lips. Her eyes-- they were exactly like his! The same shape, and the same striking shade of green.

Lily Potter.

Her name rose to his lips, but he didn’t dare to speak it, lest the illusion shatter. For the first time, Harry truly understood what everyone meant about his eyes and his heart nearly burst in his chest. 

To Lily’s left, was a tall man. He had his arm around her waist, and wore glasses. His hair was the same shade as Harry’s, and stuck up in the back just like his did. They could have been twins, were it not for the age difference, and Harry felt his eyes suddenly sting with tears. James Potter.

His mother and father were standing with him, in the mirror. But not just them, no. Other members of his family, too. He saw other pairs of green eyes like his, noses like his. All of them smiling and looking fondly at him. For the first time in his life, Harry was seeing his family. His whole family. 

“...Harry?”

Draco gently nudged him, and Harry looked to him with a beaming smile that seemed to unsettle the other boy.

“Are...are you okay?” Malfoy asked.

“Can’t you see them?” Harry asked, gesturing to the mirror. “My parents-- can you see them? Standing behind me?”

Draco only looked more unsettled, looking behind Harry with trepidation.

“...I don’t see anyone.”

“No! Not behind me, behind me. They’re in the mirror...come here, look properly!”

Harry stepped aside, letting Malfoy take his place. Draco still looked unsettled, but gazed into the mirror as Harry had...then whirled around in surprise, as though expecting to see someone behind him. Harry would have laughed, if it wasn’t so thrilling to know that he could see his parents.

“Do you see them?” He asked, excitedly.

“I see…” Draco started to say, pausing to wet his lips, nervously. “I see  _ my  _ parents. But...they’re different.  _ I’m  _ different. We look...happy. My Father is smiling-- he never does that. And my mother isn’t so pale...I’ve got loads of friends surrounding me, too. Loads! They’re all laughing, and no one looks scared...Potter, you’re there. And we-- Harry?! Do you think this mirror can show the future?”

“...How can it?” Harry asked, a bit put out that Draco wasn’t able to see Lily or James. “My parents are dead.”

Draco’s delight turned back to unease.

“...Right. Sorry, I--I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay. Just-- can I look again?”

Draco nodded and stepped out of the way, letting Harry gaze into the mirror. Just like that, James and Lily were back again, standing behind him. They were young, Harry realized with a nasty jolt of sadness. Too young. They could be his older siblings. He’d never thought to ask how old they were when...when  _ he _ killed them.

Harry reached out, wondering if he could somehow reach into the reflection and hold his mother’s hand, but his fingertips only encountered glass.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Draco asked, quietly. He must have noticed the tears in Harry’s eyes, and the younger boy quickly wiped them away.

“I’m fine, it’s just...I’ve never seen them, before. Not even in pictures. My aunt and Uncle don’t have any of them.”

“Cold of them,” A deeper voice said from the doorway, and both boys froze, realizing that they’d been caught. “To deny a child the right to see his parents...it’s almost...inhuman.”

Professor Snape was standing in the doorway, looking down his nose at the two of them, who shrank back, knowing that they were out of bounds and likely to be punished for it. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from going back to the mirror, though, as though these were his last seconds on earth and all he wanted to do was remember his mother’s face.

“Sir,” Draco started to say, adopting a polite tone. “I...I realize that we’re not supposed to be out of bed at this hour, but Harry-”

“Spare me your excuses...Mr. Malfoy.”

Snape’s voice was cool...but not as harsh as it could have been, and his eyes were on Harry.

“Mr. Potter...are you able to step away from the mirror?”

“...No, I don’t think so.” Harry said, shaking his head. A visceral fear cut through him at the idea of no longer being able to see his parents. So  _ these  _ were the people he came from...so these were the man and woman who had died for him. How could he have gone so long without knowing what they looked like?

“...I see.”

Professor Snape reached out, gently pulling Harry from the mirror. He had to resist the urge to fight back; to attack Snape for daring to pull him away; an urge that didn’t vanish until he was standing next to Draco. He exhaled heavily, startled by his own rage. Professor Snape gave him a knowing look and took out his wand, pointing it at the mirror.

“Abscondam.” He said, clearly, and a sheet burst from the end of his wand, covering the mirror. He stored his wand back into his robes and looked at the boys. “...You two, as many students before you, have been...ensnared by the Mirror of Erised. I should give you detention for this, but I’ll spare you both from punishment if you can answer me this--what does this mirror do?”

“...I show not your face but your desires.” Malfoy repeated, right as Harry said, “It shows you what you want-- whatever you want?”

“Close.” Snape said, nodding approvingly at the two of them. “This mirror shows you your deepest, most desperate desires. However, this mirror offers neither knowledge or truth and many men have... wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven entirely...mad. I trust that you don’t wish to join their ranks?”

Both Harry and Draco shook their heads.

“Then you’re smarter than I would have guessed.” Snape approved. “Five points to Slytherin...for surprising me. Now, back to bed. Both of you. And, if I catch you wandering these halls again, for any reason, I’ll have you writing lines until your fingers are worn away. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry and Draco said in unison, casting looks of relief in each other’s directions. They quickly ducked out of the classroom together, heading back the way they came. Harry only paused for a second, to look back at their Potions professor. He was still looking into the room, Harry noticed. And...for a moment, he wondered what it was that Snape saw in that mirror’s reflection, or if he had ever looked at all.

Snape closed the door of the classroom and strolled off in the opposite direction and Harry pushed the thought out his head. The deepest and most desperate desire of someone’s heart? He couldn’t possibly ask him such a personal question.

...Especially since the answer may be his death, Harry thought, with a shiver.


	14. Chapter 14

“Is  _ that _ what you’re wearing?” 

Harry turned, startled by the disgust he heard in Malfoy’s  tone, his hands still on the hem of one of his oversized shirts-- a hand me down from Dudley. His pants were in no better shape and were only held up on his skinny frame by an old, cracking leather belt that Vernon Dursley had somewhat unwillingly handed over to him when Dudley’s pants wouldn’t stay up on him. He knew that his clothes weren’t good...but, they were all that he had.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked pristine in tailor made clothes. Harry didn’t know the brand--but he didn’t have to. It was clear that they were worth as much or more than all the gold that Harry had been left by his parents, and he felt unbelievably shamed just by standing near him. He’d never imagined what Malfoy might look like in  _ muggle  _ clothes, but somehow, the Pureblood made them look as though they were just as magical as everything else he owned.

“Erm, yeah.” Harry said, starting to turn away from Draco, as though to get him to stop looking at the outfit he’d pulled on.

“No, no,  _ no. _ ” Draco argued, stepping over and trying to yank the shirt off of Harry, who made a protesting sound that was halfway between a yelp of surprise and a growl of irritation. “The right answer was, “ _ No, dear Draco, this was a joke _ ”. I can’t let you be  _ seen  _ like this. It looks like someone hexed your entire wardrobe.”

“Malfoy, stop!”

Harry stepped back, self-consciously pulling his shirt tighter against himself, to ward Draco from pulling it off of him.

“These are the only clothes I’ve got, and you said your mum asked that we wear Muggle clothes. I don’t  _ have  _ anything else but my robes.”

“That’s why you’re going to borrow some from  _ me. _ ” Draco said, rolling his eyes at Harry’s dramatic tone. He turned away, rummaging through the drawers where he had all of his own clothes stashed away. He pulled out a tailored pair of pants and a crisply folded shirt, stepping back to Harry to hold them against his chest and tsking.

“Suits my eyes better than yours...maybe something darker?”

Harry had no idea what Draco meant, just watching him curiously as he stepped back to the pile and pulled out a darker shirt, that was was made from a dark, soft fabric. That seemed to please Draco enough, and he threw the outfit at Harry.

“Put those on, and hurry. We’re supposed to Floo in fifteen minutes, and Mother doesn’t like being late.”

“Floo?” Harry repeated, his forehead creasing with confusion. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Draco’s tone was ominous, and Harry had to resist balling up the shirt and throwing it back at him with irritation.

“Pansy would tell me,” Harry taunted. It wasn’t much of a barb, but he knew it’d sting Draco. He  _ hated  _ being compared to anyone else, and that was enough for Harry to feel like he’d gotten back at him for refusing to answer his question. It wasn’t fair, anyway. Harry hadn’t asked to be brought up by Muggles.

“...Pansy isn’t here.” Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin out. He looked down his nose at Harry, obviously put out. “Now, get dressed, before I change my mind about letting you borrow my clothes and send you out looking like that.”

“I think that would hurt you more than it would me.” Harry muttered, yanking his shirt off over his head. Draco half-winced in agreement, turning away.

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Draco were standing outside of Professor Snape’s office, waiting anxiously to be allowed in so that they could ‘Floo’. Draco seemed more excited to be heading home than anything else, but Harry felt as though he might throw up. In a few minutes, Draco had told him, he’d be standing in the Malfoy Manor. What if Draco had been lying about his parents wanting him there for Christmas? What if he was showing up unexpectedly and they insisted that he go back? He wasn’t sure he could live through the embarrassment. 

“Draco-” He started to say, but Professor Snape’s door swung open and they both snapped to attention, less out of the respect that the Slytherin household had for their head of house and more out of fear. Between their evidence that he’d been trying to steal whatever Fluffy was guarding and the fact that he’d caught them out of bed and wandering the halls of Hogwarts, treading lightly seemed like the only wise thing to do around him.

“Mr. Malfoy. Potter.” Snape greeted them, silkily. He stepped aside, giving them room to shuffle in. It was strangely cold inside, despite the roaring fire, and Harry bit back a shiver as he looked around to see if there was anything that could tell him what Floo was.

“Mr. Malfoy, your mother has asked me to tell you that you and Mr. Potter are to direct yourselves to Borgin and Burkes, where she will be waiting for you.”

“Borgin and Burkes?” Draco repeated, his lip curling back over his teeth in a clear grimace of disgust. “She’s  _ shopping _ ? But I thought we were going right to the Manor.”

Harry elbowed Draco as his tone edged into whining, more out of reflex than anything, but Draco just glared at him.

“Mr. Malfoy, I know nothing of your mother’s reasons or plans. I was only asked to make sure that you obey her. Now, off with both of you.”

He reached out, holding a bucket of a fine, green powder and staring at Harry as though waiting for something. Harry stared back with uncertainty in his eyes, waiting for an explanation. One didn’t come, so he took a deep breath and asked.

“Sir?”

“Take a handful of the powder, Potter.” Snape said. His gaze trailed to Draco, who was looking curiously at his leg as though expecting to be able to see the bite from Fluffy and Snape’s raised his voice. “Mr. Malfoy, while Mr. Potter has reason for ignorance, I’m certain that  _ you  _ know how to use Floo, don’t you?”

Malfoy hastily stepped forward, grabbing a handful. Harry followed suit, and then stumbled back as Draco yanked on his robes, pulling him toward the fireplace and then turning him around to face the fire. He couldn’t feel any heat coming off of it, not even while this close, and he gave Draco a startled look.

“Feels cold, right?” Draco asked, nudging him. “It won’t burn you. Go on, step in.”

“Step  _ in _ ?” Harry repeated. “Are you mad? I’m not going to-”

“Potter.” Malfoy sighed, reaching out. He shoved his hand into the fire and Harry watched with wide eyes, waiting for him to start shouting in pain as his flesh burned...but nothing happened. “It’s magic, and you’ve got to step in if you want to Floo. I wouldn’t tell you to if it wasn’t safe. Honestly, like I’d want to be the Wizard who kills Harry Potter? It didn’t go well for the last man who tried, did it?”

Harry grimaced at the reminder, but stepped into the fire place when Draco stepped back, shuddering at the feeling. It didn’t...hurt, exactly. Just felt a bit like a breeze.

“Good. Keep your elbows tucked in, Potter. And make sure you keep your eyes shut--the soot stings. Now, say ‘Knockturn Alley’ and toss the powder down--Borgin and Burkes is the only place there that is connected to Floo and it’s easier to say. Ready?”

“I think so?”

“Then go!”

Harry resisted the urge to take a deep breath, mindful of the ash, and said as clearly as he could-

“Knockturn Alley!”

He nearly gasped as the flames turned green and then shut both his eyes and his mouth when it suddenly felt as though he was being sucked down a giant’s sink’s drain. His entire body was spinning very fast, and the roar in his ears was deafening and disorienting, like trying to stick his head out the window of a car, or a small plane. It seemed to go on forever, and he was just beginning to wonder if he’d  _ ever  _ stop spinning, when-

“Ow!”

Harry yelped in surprised pain as he came skittering out of the fireplace and crashing hard onto the floor of Borgin and Burkes. His glasses nearly slipped off of his face and he didn’t have time to pick himself up before Draco appeared behind in in another burst of green flames. He’d managed to stay on his feet, though, clearly more practiced at traveling by Floo than Harry was, and stopped to help him up and off the floor.

“Fun, isn’t?” Draco asked, his bluish-grey eyes bright with a childlike joy. Harry grimaced in response. He didn’t want to disappoint Draco with an less than enthusiastic response, though, so he pretended not to have heard and focused on dusting himself off. His borrowed outfit was covered in soot, and he might have been terrified about having ruined Draco’s clothes if he hadn’t realized that Draco’s own outfit was just as bad.

“Ah, boys.”

Narcissa’s voice came quietly from the left, where she was perusing one of the shelves. Harry caught sight of what looked like a beating heart in a glass jar and his jaw almost  dropped, but Draco elbowed him before he could ask any questions.

“Hello, mother.” Malfoy said, stepping forward and holding his arms out. For a minute, Harry thought he was going for a hug and so he was startled when Narcissa pulled out her wand as though to rebuff him. However, she only silently removed all of the soot from Draco’s clothes, face, hands, and hair, and Harry felt guilty for ever thinking that the Malfoy Matriarch might hex her own son.

Draco stepped aside and now it was Harry’s turn. He stood self-consciously, unsure if he had to hold out his arms as Draco had. No one instructed him to, though Narcissa cleaned his clothes just the same. She eyed him critically to make sure that nothing had been missed, and Harry was overwhelmed with the urge to shrink back into himself, sure that she’d recognize his clothes as belonging to Draco.

“Boys,” She said, finally, her tone gentle. Harry closed his eyes for a second, already feeling shame. But, the chastising he was expecting never came. “We have a few errands to run before we can return to the Manor. I know you’ve been cooped up at school for the last few months, but I do expect you’ll behave while we’re out. Won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco said at the same time that Harry nodded his head. Satisfied with their sincerity, Narcissa turned and started out of the strange store. Harry glanced back at the jar that had held the heart, only to find that it was gone--the jar was empty.

“Come on, Potter.” Draco said, grabbing Harry by his sleeve and dragging him along. “Haven’t you ever wanted to shop with  _ real  _ wizards?”


	15. Chapter 15

As it turned out, shopping with Wizards was really just like shopping with muggles. The only difference between them was what they were buying and  _ that  _ was what made it so exciting. Harry could hardly hold still as Narcissa led them to their first stop--a little potions place nestled in Knockturn alley, that Draco insisted held more exotic ingredients than any shop in Diagon Alley. It certainly looked that way to Harry, who read every label on the jars that lined the shelves as they passed by, only avoiding running into things and people because Draco kept tugging on his arm to get him going to right way. Phoenix fire, armadillo eyes, honey badger claw, crushed vampire fangs! It was all Harry could do to keep himself at Draco’s side, rather than bolt up and down the aisles to see everything they had. 

“We’ll be using some of this stuff as we get older,” Draco told him, his eyes lingering on a vial of what was labeled ‘mermaid scales’. “It’s for truly gifted potions makers to use. And, of course, we’ll be top of our year.”

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, elbowing him and speaking too quietly for Narcissa to hear. “You barely do your homework.”

Draco sneered lightly, nudging him back.

“I don’t need to. None of that matters--it’s the exams that are important.”

Harry gulped. He wasn’t much better than Draco when it came to doing his homework. Half the time, he had Blaise finish it for him, never thinking too far ahead to the end of the year. What if he botched up his exams and had to do his first year all over again?

“Don’t look so scared, Harry.” Draco said, watching as Narcissa picked up a packet of Hippogriff feathers. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

Harry nodded in agreement, but his mood had soured so much that he didn’t find the same joy in looking at the wares as he had before. It was so easy for Draco to be confident about who he was and what he was going to accomplish. Why couldn’t Harry be as certain about the future as him?

“Come along, boys.”

Narcissa called to the two of them, pulling out her purse and shoving a few Galleons in the hand of the shopkeep who had popped up the second that Narcissa seemed to be finished shopping. She pointed her wand at all that she had purchased and made it vanish, earning herself a half-surprised, half-delighted gasp from Harry. He was immediately embarrassed of himself, but she smiled kindly at him, her gaze lingering on his clothes for half a second too long.

“...We have a few more errands to run.” She continued, her gaze flicking back to Draco’s face and giving him a warning look when it seemed as though he might start complaining. “Draco, stop looking so put out. You need new clothes. Your coat from last year is worn out, I can’t imagine how you managed that. Oh, and Harry--Draco’s clothes are a bit big on you. We’ll need to get your measured for your own. Have you ever been measured for clothing, before?”

Harry had gone entirely mute with surprise, just shaking his head no and panicking internally. So, Narcissa had noticed that he was wearing Draco’s clothes. What did she think of him? She must know that he’d living with Muggles, before--Malfoy told his parents almost everything. So, she must know that he has muggle clothes. What did she think happened to them? He looked to Draco, terrified.

Malfoy didn’t seem half as worried.

“Don’t worry, Harry.” Draco said, a little too loudly. “I told mother, earlier, that all of your clothes had been jinxed. It’s not  _ your  _ fault that no one likes our house.”

Harry gaped at him. He’d lied to his mother? When? Harry hadn’t heard the two of them talking about it. But...admittedly, he’d also been very focused on the potion ingredients. He must have missed it.

“Indeed. It’s a shame that neither of you know who did it,” Narcissa said, frowning. “I’d insist that they be punished. Attacking another’s students personal items? I hear worse and worse things about Hogwarts every year. Why, if it wasn’t for Professor Snape being your head of house, Draco, we might have sent your to Durmstrang.”

“..Durmstrang?” Harry repeated, while Draco puffed out his chest.

“It’s another Wizarding school. Very elite--only the best of the best get in there. Father was sure that I’d be admitted immediately, but...well, you know.” Draco trailed off, misreading Harry’s frown. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to go there now. Just imagine if I had? I never would have been able to meet the famous Harry Potter.”

Harry managed a half-smile, but it faded fast. He simply couldn’t wrap his around it...he had to ask…

“...There are  _ other  _ wizarding schools?”

Narcissa pressed her lips together to hide a smile and Draco snorted.

“You’ve still got so much to learn, Potter.”

 

***

 

Their time at that potion’s shop was the last of it that they spent in Knockturn Alley, and Harry was relieved when they took the steps back up to Diagon Alley and were surrounded by buildings that were more familiar to him. He stayed in-step with Draco, and they both trailed behind Narcissa. Something about her presence made a clear path through the crowded streets, and Harry wasn’t certain if it was the way she held herself, with her haughty expression and confident stride, or it it was her reputation as a Malfoy. It was amusing to see where Draco got  _ his  _ attitude from, if nothing else. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said, carefully avoiding a patch of ice on the ground. “Where...exactly...do Wizards get Muggle clothes?”

“Same place Muggles do, I suppose.” Draco said, eyeing the Broomstick shop. “At seamstress places. Well--some people, if they live close enough, go to Muggle stores. I’ve been inside a few of those, but not in a long time. Mother prefers Muggle clothes that are Wizard made. That way her clothing always has pockets. Harry--why do Muggles not put pockets on girl’s clothing, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Harry said, with a shrug. He didn’t even know that they didn’t. Aunt Petunia never complained about it.

“Well, anyway, we always go to a shop a bit like Madam Malkin's--you’ve been there, before, haven’t you? Right, well, Mother doesn’t really liked it there, but I like Malkin’s because the Seamstress is faster than the one at Twilfitt and Tatting's...anyway, that’s where we’re going, now. Twilfitt and Tatting’s does the best Muggle clothing.”

Harry nodded along, trying to wrap his head around everything that Malfoy was telling him. He did remember going to Madam Malkin’s, and wondered if he should have counted that when Narcissa asked if he’d ever been fitted for clothes before...but, no. That was just for robes. He’d never been fitted for pants or anything.

“Did you really tell your mother that my clothes were jinxed?” Harry asked, suddenly reminded of that fact.

“Of course I did,” Draco said, ducking someone testing out a broomstick flew a little bit too low over the crowd. “Better that than to tell her that you have no taste in clothing.”

Harry grimaced.

“Draco, I didn’t pick those out.” Harry said, hotly, a little annoyed by his friend’s sneer. “They’re hand-me-downs. They belonged to my cousin, Dudley, and were given to me when he outgrew them.”

“You were wearing second-hand clothes?” Draco asked, not looking any less disgruntled. “That’s even worse. How do you stand living with those people?”

“I don’t really,” Harry said, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What would Draco think if he knew more about the Dursleys? It was almost...annoying that Draco though hand-me-downs were the worst thing that could be done to a person. “I mean, it’s not like I’m there because I want to be. I just don’t have any other family.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something else...but then just closed it again, looking sheepish.

“I-”

“Boys.”

Narcissa came to a halt, looking exasperated.

“We’re never going to get back to the Manor if you two don’t keep up. Come along.”

Harry and Draco exchanged another glance, and then shuffled after her in silence.

 

***

 

Twilfitt and Tatting’s was a large shop, nestled between ‘Broomstix’ and Diagon Alley’s large Apothecary. The inside was warmer than any of the other shops had been, and Harry watched with amazement as a set of emerald green robes drifted by him of their own accord and hung themselves up.  Draco, of course, wasn’t half as impressed. He was already shrugging out of his coat, which was immediately snatched up by an employee who appeared out of thin air. Harry wasn’t as quick about removing his coat, and had it forcibly yanked off of him by the same employee, who vanished before he could do or say anything about it. 

“Ah, welcome! Mrs. Malfoy, how wonderful to see you again!”

A tall man with a narrow face and greying hair stepped out, behind the counter, a long line of robes drifting behind him. The smile on his face seemed genuine, but there was an edge of fear to his tone, something that Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. It was strange to see how other people in the wizarding world saw the Malfoys--so differently than he did. If Narcissa noticed the underlying coolness, however, she said nothing about it. Instead, she gestured sharply to both Draco and Harry, indicating that they were the ones in need of his attention.

“I’d like clothes for both boys--muggle outfits and sets of dress robes. Silver for Draco and a nice, deep green for Harry, I should think.”

“Dress robes?” Draco asked, his eyes lighting up. “Are we hosting a party?”

“Yes.” Narcissa said, simply. Harry shuffled his feet, not daring to ask what kind of party or what dress robes looked like--surely, they couldn’t be that much different than the robes they wore at Hogwarts, could they?

“Of course, Madam Malfoy. I would be happy to--oh-ho!”

The man behind the counter shifted his gaze, his eyes fixating on the exposed scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry stiffened, swallowing back against the sudden lump in his throat and waiting to be asked about it; waiting to be congratulated on something he didn’t remember doing. But, Narcissa was quicker. Her smile grew cold and her eyes narrowed at the man.

“I’d like it done quickly. It shouldn’t take you more than a few moments to measure the boys, yes?”

“Of course!” The man said, recovering from his fixation on Harry. His hands disappeared under the counter, where he grabbed what seemed to be a measuring tape and suddenly tossed it at Harry. He flinched, expecting to be hit in the face by it, and was surprised when it stopped just inches from him and uncoiled itself, sliding around his body like a snake. It wrapped around his wrists and forced him to pull his arms out...then did his chest, legs, and the inseam, which made him blush.

Draco was much better about it, staying still and unbothered when the tape went to work over him. Harry wondered if he’d ever be that calm and collected about anything the way that Malfoy was. Meanwhile, Narcissa was busying herself with picking out colours for the rest of their clothing. Reds, blacks, blues, greens, and a lot of silver for Draco, who looked bored.

“Don’t worry, Harry.” He said, under his breath, clearly hoping that his mother wouldn’t hear him. “Not everything is going to be  _ this  _ boring.”

Harry winced.

“If you think this is boring, I’m not sure I’m ready for what’s exciting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for vanishing for so long! I've just started a new job and have been struggling with depression, so there hasn't been much muse to spare. Hoping to change that and begin to update more frequently, again. Hope it was worth the wait!


	16. Chapter 16

The shopping trip was ended after they’d finished their business at Twilfitt and Tatting’s. Whether that was because Narcissa was simply finished running her errands or because Draco had kicked up enough of a fit to strip her of her patience was up for debate. But, while Malfoy was glad to hear it as they stepped out into the chillier air of Diagon Alley, Harry was apprehensive again. Though Narcissa seemed to be just fine with him being around, Harry was unsure if it would stay that way. Suppose she only liked him now because he at least had  _ some  _ idea of what he was doing? He’d have no idea how to behave once they were at the Malfoy manor. His only basis for comparison was life with the Dursleys--cooking, cleaning, and being silent so that no one had to know or think about the fact that he existed. 

Harry’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his uncertainty. His face must have betrayed his displeasure, as well, because Draco was suddenly behind him with concern in his eyes.

“Cold, Potter?” He asked, nudging him. Harry shook his head. He barely noticed the cold, though his ears had gone a little numb. Draco didn’t seem to believe him, and carelessly slung his arm around Harry’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “Perk up, Harry. You’re about to get the privilege of staying in the Malfoy Manor. It comes with a guest bedroom and bragging rights.”

Harry pushed back at him, rolling his eyes at Draco’s boasting. Narcissa seemed to share similar feelings of fond exasperation, coming up behind the two boys and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Her touch was light and warm.

“Now, Draco. You know better than to boast.” Narcissa reminded her son, not unkindly. Draco nodded, having the grace to look ashamed. “Good. Now, why don’t you two go on ahead to Borgin and Burkes. Get all of that excess energy out. I’m afraid you won’t be able to see the extent of the grounds, Harry--Lucius is having the garden sculpted for our upcoming yuletide celebration. And we’ll need to keep the two of you inside and out of the way.”

“But, mother!” Draco started to argue, his lips setting into a pout. He’d been bragging to Harry all week about the gardens, and the Quidditch pitch that Lucius Malfoy had set up for him. He fell silent as Narcissa raised her eyebrows at him, but didn’t quite lose all of his attitude. He grabbed Harry by his sleeve and marched forward, dragging the smaller boy along with him.

“Draco,” Harry said, glancing back nervously at Narcissa. She didn’t seem angry, just gliding along behind them. “Don’t be such a prat. I thought your house was supposed to be the most impressive place in the world. Don’t tell me we won’t have any fun just because we can’t go outside.”

“ _ Of course _ we will, Potter.” Draco snapped, scowling. “But you won’t be able to see everything. I had an entire tour planned.”

“You’re lucky to come from a house that you can plan a tour for,” Harry said, somewhat wistfully. He pulled his hand out of Draco’s grip and straightened his glasses on his face. “My aunt and Uncle’s place only has three bedrooms, and two of them belonged to my cousin until I got my letter. It’s full of his old, broken toys.”

Draco paused, giving him a funny look.

“Where did you stay, then? Before it was yours, I mean?”

Harry grew quiet, the answer sitting on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t suppose Draco would think ill of him if he knew the truth...but, somehow, he couldn’t get the words out. The shameful secret couldn’t get past the lump in his throat. Luckily, he was spared from having to answer by the shop appearing just ahead and Narcissa coming up behind them.

“Quickly, boys. We want to be back in time for dinner, don’t we?”

 

* * *

 

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

Harry hastily moved to get off of Draco, who’d he landed on when it was his turn to use the Floo. He pushed himself back up onto slightly shaking legs, and then reached down to pull Draco up right as Narcissa appeared in the fireplace. She handled herself with much more grace and dignity than either of them, staying on her feet and not getting so much as one speck of soot on her clothes. She stepped out of the fireplace, shrugging out of her coat and holding it out into the air. There was a loud CRACK and a small creature with a snub nose and large, bat like ears appeared at her side.

Harry bit his tongue to keep from gasping, barely resisting the urge to hide behind Draco.

“The boys coats, as well, Dobby.” Narcissa ordered the thing as it took her coat into its short arms. The small creature bowed to her and then moved closer to Draco and Harry. Draco shrugged out of his coat, as well, but Harry hesitated.

“What are you?” Harry asked it. The small creature seemed surprised by the question, gaze trailing over to Narcissa as though silently asking permission to answer. She nodded once.

“Dobby is a house-elf, sir.” The creature squeaked out. “Dobby is serving the noble house of Malfoy.”

“What’s a house-elf…?”

Harry looked to Narcissa for clarification, this time.

“House-elves are very helpful little creatures,” Narcissa said, as Draco stepped behind Harry and impatiently yanked the coat off of him, to hand to the elf. “Many witches and wizards have them on hand, to help with the cooking, cleaning, and sometimes even child-rearing. Dobby was the son of our first house-elf. He’s been with us since Draco was a child.”

Dobby nodded along with Narcissa’s words, his bat-like ears flopping as Draco tossed the last coat at him. 

“It was nice meeting you, sir.” Dobby said. “Mistress Narcissa, Dobby will be making the dinner now.”

With the same, loud CRACK, the house-elf vanished and Harry stared at the spot where he disappeared, bemused. Draco, as always, was not nearly as interested.

“Sometimes I forget how little you know.” He said. “But, house-elves? Come off it. How else do you think the Common Room gets cleaned?”

“I didn’t know.” Harry said, honestly. “I thought there was a spell on it.”

“Oh, no. Hogwarts has been using house-elves since it was founded.” Narcissa said, fondly reaching over to fix Draco’s hair, mussed from the floo. “Another reason why Draco should think himself lucky that we sent him there instead of Durmstrang. I hear the students are tasked with cleaning after themselves, there.”

Draco pretended to shudder with horror...or, maybe he actually did. It was hard for Harry to tell.

“Mother, I’m going to show Harry to his room.” Draco said, pulling himself away from her fussing touches. “Let us know when dinner is ready? I’m starving.”

Without waiting for an answer, Draco’s hand found Harry’s and he pulled him to the grand staircase to the left, taking the steps two at a time in his excitement. Harry let himself be dragged, just as nervous as Draco was thrilled. Everything in the Malfoy Manor was...pristine. Polished and beautiful. It seemed more like a museum than it did a house. There were long halls, ornate doors, and plenty of stair cases. Draco counted off the important rooms as they passed. Which, was to say, all of them.

“That’s father’s study. He’s a very important man, you know. The Minister of Magic, himself, calls on him whenever he needs help with decisions. My father has overseen fifteen different laws that were put in place. Oh, and there, that’s the library. It’s not as big as the one at Hogwarts, but it’s not filled with boring things that we already know, either. That’s one the guest rooms, there. It’s the smallest one, so of course we can’t put you /there/.” Draco prattled on, his hand staying tightly enclosed around Harry’s. They were practically running, now, nearly knocking over a statue of an angry looking man.

“That’s the room that they let me practice magic in. We can do some of that, while we're here. Maybe sneak away with one of Father’s advanced spell books.”

“Wait, a minute.”

Harry came to a halt.

“I thought underage wizards weren’t allowed to do magic outside of school?”

“Oh, that? Please.”

Draco waved his free hand, as though to bat Harry’s words out of the air.

“That doesn’t apply to people like  _ us _ , Potter. Besides, the Ministry can’t track it. At least, not with pure bloods. For all they know, it’s mother and father who are doing magic. And the Minister would never try and upset my father by coming to check, anyway.”

“But-”

“Ah, here it is!” Draco said, loudly, intentionally interrupting Harry. He pushed open a door, to his left, tugging Harry into a large bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, but not for want of furniture. There was a large bed in the center of the room, a dresser, a bookshelf, a nightstand, a vanity, and a large mirror hanging on the closet door. Draco raced over to the bed and leapt onto it, landing flat on his back. Harry, delighted, followed suit and landed next to him.

"This is your room.” Draco said, somewhat breathlessly, as he shifted against the green silk duvet. “It’s not as nice as mine...but, once you get some posters up…”

“Posters?” Harry repeated, looking around at the walls.

“Obviously.” Draco said, his fair hair in his face. “I’ve already told mother that you’re going to be here all summer, too. You should have a place in the manor that’s all your own. I bet Blaise will be jealous. He’s been over a few times and I never let him decorate anything.”

Harry grinned. Not because of Blaise’s misfortune but because...well, he just couldn’t imagine that a room like this could be  _ his. _

“I didn’t know Wizards used posters. What have you got in your room?” Harry asked, deliberately avoiding the subject of him staying.

“Oh, I’ll show you, later.” Draco promised. “My room is just across the hall--I’ve got all sorts. Father brought me back a signed poster from The Bulgarian National Quidditch team. They play rough, no holds barred. Father can take us to see them, maybe you can take some notes. 

“Really?” Harry asked, hardly daring to hope. He wondered if it’d be more exciting or disheartening to see how professional players were… “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s settled. We’re going.” Draco said as best he could with his head against the mattress. “We can talk to him about it, tonight. He should be home in time for dinner.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then-

“I’ve never stayed at anyone’s house, before.” He confessed. “Not even for a sleepover.”

“Really?”

Draco sat up, his blonde hair in disarray and a frown on his face.

“Is that why you’ve been so nervous? Honestly, Harry, it’s not hard. You just do all the things you’d normally do at your own house, but over at someone else’s.”

The lump appeared in Harry’s throat again. He could tell him. Right now, he could tell him everything. But the words won’t come out and, to his surprise, he finds tears stinging his eyes. He sits up quickly, trying to discreetly wipe his face, but it’s too late.

“What’s the matter?” Draco demanded. “...Don’t you like it, here?”

For the first time since Harry met him, Draco sounded almost...vulnerable. It must be hard for him to imagine why anyone wouldn’t love the manor as much as he does.

“I do.” Harry said, quietly. “I’m just afraid you won’t like having me here, I guess.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Draco said, shoving him lightly. “I like you just fine at school, right? Even if you are a prat who acts like a Gryffindor. You’re still my best mate, here and there.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to tell him off, so he only offered him a weak smile. 

“Thanks, Malfoy. I think.” 

“Come on, I’ll show you my room, now.” Draco said, climbing off of the bed. “I’ve got some old toys, in the closet. Obviously, I haven’t played with them in  _ ages _ but...you know..since you grew up with muggles and all, maybe you’d like to see what they can do.” 

Harry bit his tongue, noticing that Draco’s cheeks had gone a bit pink.

“Yeah, alright.” He agreed, following the other boy out of the guest room.


	17. Chapter 17

“Harry, dear, is your hair singed?”

Draco lifted his hand to his mouth to hide a snigger at Narcissa’s question and Harry’s cheeks flushed a bit red. It had only taken fifteen minutes of rifling through Draco’s toy chest to find that they were much, much different than the sort of things Muggles got. ( _ His  _ action figures were of the greatest wizards that had ever lived, and they walked and talked all on their own, with wee sparks shooting out of the ends of their wands.) Harry had become fascinated with a stuffed dragon that breathed  _ real  _ fire and had been holding it a little too close when it suddenly sneezed, sending out a line of flames that did get a little too close to his hair.

Worried that he’d be in trouble, he swallowed against the lump in his throat and hesitantly tried to answer her, but it didn’t matter. Narcissa was already nodding, an amused smile on her face when her gaze fell on the dragon that Harry had dropped.

“I see.” She said, pulling her wand out from her robes. For a wild moment, Harry thought that she might utter a curse at  _ him _ , but then she only flicked it at the mess and cleaned it up, effortlessly, and he felt ashamed for having ever thought that she might do something to hurt him. He saw both Ron’s smug face and Draco’s shocked one, instantaneously, in the back of his mind and looked down at the ground so that neither of the Malfoys would become curious about the guilt in his eyes. “I’m glad the two of you are having fun, but dinner will be served in ten minutes. Draco, please show Harry where to wash up.” 

“Mother, can’t we-” Draco started to argue, his arms wrapping tighter about the stuffed Basilisk he’d found in the bottom of the toy chest, but he thought better of his complaints when Narcissa gave him a stern look. “...Come on, Harry. Wait until you’ve tried the food  _ here _ . No elf in all of Hogwarts is half as skilled as ours!” 

Harry grinned as Draco puffed out his chest, easily soothing himself down from tantrum levels of disappointment with the casual reminder to Harry that Malfoy Manor was worth three of Hogwarts. He followed Draco out of the room, taking great care not to get lost and missing the peculiar look that Narcissa gave him as they went. 

They washed up, quickly, the reminder that there  _ was  _ food to be had bringing their appetites back to life. They raced to the dining hall, Draco taking the lead with the unfair advantage of knowing where it  _ was _ , while Harry stayed on his heels to avoid getting lost or losing too badly. By the end of his trip, he decided, he’d be able to beat Draco. 

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were already seated in the dining room, at the head of a very large, and very long table. For a moment, Harry hesitated in the doorway, unsure if they were expecting a large amount of guests and feeling quite petrified by the thought. It was hard enough, trying to make Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy like him--how could he possibly begin to be good enough for anyone else? 

To his good fortune, however, both he and Draco were directed to sit in the chairs next to Narcissa and Lucius, and Harry was able to see that only those four places were set for dinner. It took some of the weight off of his shoulders, but he couldn’t stop himself from shooting a nervous glance at Mr. Malfoy. He wasn’t really looking at any of them; rather, was looking past the people in his company, a frown on his face. Harry tried to study him, discreetly, suddenly fascinated by how much he and Draco looked alike. Though Lucius’ hair was much longer, it was the same, soft blonde that Draco had. Their grey eyes were just alike...but Mr. Malfoy’s face was sharper. More angled. 

Harry pressed his lips together, an unpleasant pang of longing shooting through him--a desire to find that mirror again, and see what his own parents looked like. To search for pieces of himself in their reflection. The longing was so great that he nearly jumped right away from the table and dashed to the fireplace. 

It was only Draco’s voice that brought him back to reality--he had missed whatever question Narcissa asked her son.

“Oh, we’re fine.” Draco was saying, as the tops disappeared from the gleaming, silver trays. Each one was piled up high with food: mashed potatoes, steak, steamed vegetables, and soft, fresh baked rolls. “Of course, all of our classes are  _ boring _ . We’re not learning anything that I don’t already know.” 

“And, I trust, that no one has tried to attack you lately, Harry?” Narcissa asked, and Harry froze in his place, hardly daring to wonder how she could possibly know about the time when Snape, allegedly, tried to kill him. Would Draco have said something to her…? 

“Uhh…” He hummed, shooting Draco a terrified glance. The Malfoy heir was much more at ease, rolling his light eyes at Harry. 

“You don’t have to keep defending him.” He said, looking slightly wounded. “He did almost erode your face with that vile potion.”

Harry laughed. He didn’t really  _ mean  _ to, but to realize they were talking about Ron’s ill-idea and not the possibility that Professor Snape wanted to kill him…? 

“It was an accident.” Harry reminded Draco, tiredly. “He didn’t think it would hurt me.”

“Admirable, though your easy forgiveness of the Weasley boy is…” Lucius said, speaking for the first time. It seemed that the topic had drawn him in. “Throwing a ill-prepared potion at another student is an act of aggression, no matter what they think the outcome will be. I had half a mind to write to the Minister himself and ensure that the boy never has another class with either of you, ever again. He’s clearly dangerous--who knows what ideas are being fed to him at ho-”

“Now, now.” Narcissa chimed in, her tone gentle yet firm.. “That was months ago, now, and Harry handled it with grace. There’s no need to make him frightened all over again.” 

Lucius looked as though he might disagree, but refrained from saying so. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry scooped up a fork full of potatoes and popped them in his mouth, looking to Draco for some kind of silent, reassurance. Draco only scowled down at the broccoli on his plate, leaving Harry mystified as to why Mr. Malfoy thought Ron might be getting bad ideas from home. 

“Were you at the Ministry, today, Father?” Draco asked, breaking the uneasy silence. 

“Indeed I was. Sitting in on a trial, today. The topic of which does not need to be heard by children as young as you and Harry. Do not give me that look, Draco, there are still adult matters in this world that do not need to be discussed at length with you.” 

Harry snorted into his goblet of water, earning himself a kick under the table from Draco. Thus ended the conversation.

* * *

After dinner, Draco decided that the best way to kill time before their imminent need to sleep was to explore the rest of the manor. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy moved to the sitting room for a quiet evening, bidding that the boys leave that room unscathed by their merriment and then sent them on their way. 

Harry and Draco ran through the many halls of the manor, dashing up and down flights of stares as Draco tried to show Harry every, single important detail of the manor. It was dizzying to keep up with, but Harry did his best, wishing he had a camera to document everything that was being shown to him. 

There was a long, stretching hallway that was lined with tapestries woven with silk, and suits of armor. Draco told him that they were enchanted; and that they’d defend the manor if it was ever under attack. Harry stared apprehensively at them, watching to see if they’d move. They didn’t, but he did feel as though he was being watched. At the end of the hall, there was a room full of gleaming swords and other weapons. Draco proudly told him that they were all Goblin made, and used in battles predating modern magic. Harry almost reached out to touch one, but pulled back at the last second. 

There were many rooms like those ones; testaments to the Malfoys heritage or just to how cultured they were, as Draco proudly put it. Harry couldn’t help but compare every single room that they passed by to that of the Dursleys. They’d never have anything like this in  _ their  _ rooms. And their house looked filthy compared to the immaculate keeping of the Manor. He had to bite back a grin, thinking of what Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would say if they knew that Harry was staying in a place like  _ this _ . 

“This is our-are you listening?” Draco asked, interrupting Harry’s nearly boastful thoughts.

“What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.” Harry said, his expression apologetic. 

“About what?” 

“Well…”

Harry came to a halt in the middle of a hall, looking ahead to the large, impressive portrait of the Malfoy family. Draco looked like he was much younger when it was painted...and he almost laughed, again. 

“I guess I was just thinking of my Aunt and Uncle. I used to think that their house was sort of like a castle. But yours is…”

He gestured, vaguely, unsure how exactly to describe it. 

“I was just wondering what they’d think if they knew that I was in a place like this, right now, while they’re in their regular, boring home.” 

Draco’s expression shifted from curious to pleased in an instant. At first, Harry thought that it was because he’d complimented the manor. But, then, Draco clapped him on the back and nodded approvingly.

“You want them to envy you, Potter? That’s not necessarily a Slytherin trait….but it does show that I’m rubbing off on you, doesn’t?” He asked, and Harry pressed his shoulder against Draco’s, pushing him a little. 

“Yeah...I guess you have.” 

He doesn’t say whether that was a good thing or not, Mostly because he wasn’t sure, himself. 

“So, what do you think they’d say?” Draco asked, as they resumed walking down the hall. “Would they be jealous?”

“...I don’t know.” Harry said, honestly. “They don’t really like magic. Or anything that I like, so they’d hate it for those two reasons alone. But, I think, if they didn’t know that it was a house that belonged to Wizards, they’d fall over themselves trying to be best friends with your parents, just so they could say that they know powerful people.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose.

“All adults are like that. Pretending to like things or people just to get ahead. It’s so dull. When I’m of age, I’m not going to be like that. I’ll say what I really feel, no matter what.” 

“How, exactly, is that different from how you are, now?”

Harry teased, watching Malfoy now. It was hard to think of him as anything other than as he was, now. No before, no after. Just in the moment. What would he be like, as an adult, really? Would he look like his father? Would he be able to still speak his mind?

“Ha, ha.” Draco said, dryly. They started up the stairs, together, silence falling between them until they reached the top, their bedrooms just a few feet away. It was only then that Draco continued, softly, as though he thinks that someone might be listening. “It wouldn’t be. That’s the point. You know...my parents don’t act like me. Not because we’re different, but because they have to pretend to be something else, so people will like them.” 

Harry stared at Draco, unsure of what to say to that. He didn’t know the Malfoys well enough to tell what was a front and what was the real them, hidden behind the cool facade. Draco, must, though, and so he didn’t question the validity of his claim. 

“Why would they do that?” Harry asked, finally. He was already certain that he knew, why, but what else was there to say? 

“...Because, people think they’re evil.” Draco said. His voice was low and shameful now and, to Harry’s surprise, a shiver ran up his spine. This wasn’t something he’d ever be told at Hogwarts, he knew. Not with so many people who might be listening in. Even in the safety of the Common Room. “They were bad, once. My father hurt people. Mud-Muggles, I mean. Non-magic folk. I was only five when I found out. My parents didn’t tell me, but someone attacked my father. Cursed him right in front of me when he was taking me to pick out a present on my birthday. After they attacked him, they told me that my father was bad and spit on him. My parents told me why it happened, later that night. I think they think that I’ve forgotten, but I never did.” 

Harry’s eyes were so wide that he felt his eyebrows must be reaching his hairline, his mouth open and his heart thudding painfully in his chest, feeling the ghost of the fear and confusion that Draco must have felt when his father was attacked in front of him. He didn’t know what to say. Maybe he didn’t need to see anything, because Draco continued without pause, like he couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

“I know he did bad things. He won’t tell me what, exactly, but I hear it. From everyone, everywhere we go. There’s always someone who doesn’t trust him; who thinks that we’re all bad blood. Who thinks my father hurt people because he wanted to. He didn’t, though. I know that, Harry. He only joined the bad side because You-Know-Who threatened to kill my mother.”

Harry swallowed, his mind conjuring up the image that he didn’t want to see. Faceless, younger versions of Draco’s parents. Huddled together as a darker, cloaked man with a hissing voice towered over them, threatening their lives. That image twisted into a different one...a young woman with red hair, standing in front of his crib. He can’t see her face, but the cloaked man is there too...threatening her. Threatening  _ him _ . 

“Why don’t people believe him?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling very cold. “I mean...isn’t there a way to tell that he was being honest?”

“Of course there is.” Draco said, his tone more like normal. “That’s how he didn’t end up in Azkaban. You know, the Wizards Prison? They interviewed him for hours after he was captured. Made him drink truth serums, tell him his story over and over again. He was telling the truth, Harry. So they let him go. But that’s not enough for anyone. And so they have to pretend.”

A pause, and then Draco spoke even faster, with venom in his voice.

“But I don’t have to. Everyone thinks I’m bad because I have the Malfoy name, but I’m not going to let them bully me. I’m not going to be ashamed. I don’t...I shouldn’t  _ feel  _ like a villain just because my parents made mistakes, should I?”

He looked to Harry, then, searching for an answer that his friend was ill-prepared to give. But, Harry gave it his best shot, anyway. 

“...I think it’s about time that the entire Wizarding World stop thinking that we’re our parents.” Harry said, firmly. “We’re not good or bad just because they were. We’re...just ourselves. And, I think you’re pretty alright, Malfoy.” 

Draco smiled, then. He straightened up and rubbed at his eyes, removing all traces of weakness from his stance and expression. Harry wondered if Draco realized he did that; if he knew that he was already hiding from the world. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Potter.” 

Harry grinned, but it faded slightly as Draco shuffled his feet.

“...Do you think your parents would mind that we’re best mates?” Malfoy asked, softly. 

Harry should have been surprised by the question, but he wasn’t. It was one that he’d asked himself, once or twice. Always wondering if they’d mind...if they’d think he was a failure because he was in Slytherin, or because he made friends with Draco Malfoy instead of Ron Weasley. Or if any of it mattered at all, because they weren’t here to see it. 

“...No, I don’t think so.” Harry said, his voice more confident than he really felt. “I think they’d be glad that I had a friend like you.” 

“...Well, they should be. I’m a catch.” Draco said, suddenly. Harry wasn’t able to stop from laughing and, after a beat, Draco joined in too. They laughed together for what felt like a very long time; a sound composed both of amusement and relief that they no longer had to think on serious subjects that never should have been a problem of theirs.

“Goodnight, Potter.” Draco said, when they finally stopped laughing. He moved as though he might hug Harry...but then thought better of it, awkwardly turning back around and slipping into his room. Harry turned away when the door shut behind his friend, nearing the guest bedroom...and then hesitating, looking back down the hall with curiosity in his green eyes. For a moment, he’d thought he’d seen something. But, there was nothing but a painting or two, and Harry shook his head at himself. 

He went into his own bedroom, never seeing Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy standing in the shadows, holding each other tightly and having heard every word shared between the boys. 


	18. Chapter 18

It was a loud tapping sound that woke Harry the next morning, bringing a groan to his lips. Aunt Petunia must be impatient, this morning, he thought to himself. She was knocking quickly against the cupboard door--maybe Dudley had woken up sick or something. Great. That would mean extra chores for him, as she devoted her entire day to ensuring that he’d feel better.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Harry shoved his face against the pillow, refusing to budge. He’d been having such a good dream...and his little cot was unusually warm…

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“Alright, Alright! I’m up!” Harry grumbled, grabbing a fistful of the blankets so that he could toss them off of his body, but paused when he felt that it was silk beneath his fingertips, not the scratchy wool of his usual blanket. His eyes opened wide, and he turned his head, trying to take in his surroundings with a blurry gaze. He wasn’t in his Cupboard! Harry’s heart leapt in his chest at the site of the Malfoy’s guest bedroom and he reached for his glasses, pulling them on and grinning brightly at Draco, who was sitting on the floor a few feet away from the bed, rhythmically hitting a chess piece against the board.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, bemused. 

“Mother told me that I couldn’t wake you,” Draco said, setting the piece down. He smirked over at Harry, and quickly got to his feet so that he could jump on the bed. “But she didn’t say that the Chess Piece couldn’t disturb you.” 

“Clever.” Harry said, sitting up a little bit straighter as Draco huddled in next to him. He was still dressed in grey silk pajamas, his blonde hair a mess. Harry had never really seen him like this: no one had, actually. Draco was the first to rise every morning, determined to be dressed and fix his hair before anyone could see what ‘disheveled’ looked like on the Malfoy Heir.  He looked...softer than usual. Younger, even. 

“Well, now that  _ you’re  _ up, we can do some Christmas shopping.” Draco said, pulling two pieces of paper out from the inside of his shirt. “I smuggled these in here, so Mother wouldn’t notice. It’s so hard to get her and Father  _ anything _ without them finding out beforehand. But, this year, I have a plan.” 

Harry leaned over, looking at the leaflets. They were catalogues, he realized. Advertising everything from Wizard toys to Potion ingredients. The pictures on them moved, showing what each product could do. 

“You’re ordering them presents?” Harry guessed, his heart suddenly sinking in his stomach. He hadn’t even really  _ thought  _ about Christmas. He’d never gotten anyone gifts before; never having the money. And it wasn’t as though the Dursleys would have accepted or trusted anything he  _ did  _ get them. But...what about everyone else? Pansy, Blaise, Millie, Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy, Draco...were they expecting presents from him? They must be. 

“ _ We’re _ ordering them presents.” Draco corrected, taking no notice of Harry’s panicked expression. “I thought we could get nicer ones for everyone from both of us if we split the cost, instead of sending everyone two sets of cheap items like candy.” 

Harry’s heart soared, as Malfoy unwittingly solved all of his problems for him. He did have some of his money in his bags, and it should be more than enough to buy presents. 

“Okay. Just, one thing? You can’t look when I’m picking out yours.” Harry said, firmly. Draco shot him a look. 

“Of course not. Why do you think I brought two? That way, we can’t see what we’re getting for each other. Honestly, Potter.” 

With that, they got to work picking out items. Their fellow Slytherin housemates were the first on their list: Pansy would be receiving a real silver necklace made to look like a snake, that would slither in circles around her neck. It could shrink itself down to become either a ring or a bracelet, and Harry felt particularly pleased about having spotted it. Blaise was getting a new Wizard Chess Set, since Goyle had accidentally smashed his old one by stepping on it. Millie was being gifted with a silk scarf and a matching set of gloves. There was a dragon on each item, that breathed ‘fire’ and warmed them up. Crabbe and Goyle, in the end, were the only ones that they  _ did  _ decide to give candy to, because there was nothing else in all the world that they would like more. 

Next, they moved onto Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy, who were arguably the hardest to buy presents for. They were a witch and wizard who had  _ everything _ , so what were they supposed to be given on any holiday? Draco flipped through the catalogue five times, before insisting that he was going to give up.  

“There’s nothing in here that they don’t have, or couldn’t if they wanted to.” Draco complained, his face beginning to turn pink in his annoyance. 

“Well, what if we don’t buy them something?” Harry suggested, pushing his glasses up so that he could rub at his eyes. “We could make them something.” 

Draco seemed taken with the idea, and so they decided on only buying a picture frame that they would then put a picture in. Harry offered to take on of Draco- he was quite good at photography; taking pictures of the Dursleys standing in front of their tree during the holidays and whatnot. But, Draco insisted that Harry needed to be in the picture too, as it was a gift from  _ both  _ of them. 

Once that was decided, Draco took the pamphlet away so that he could find a present for Harry, and gave Harry the blank one to do his shopping on. Harry held it away from Draco’s gaze, looking for the perfect present for him. While he was searching, he picked out a new game of Gobstones for Ron, who had been complaining about having broken his, and a book of “1,000 Unusual, rare, or unheard of Potions” for Hermione Granger. He had, after all, saved her life from a troll. Why not give her a gift? Neville, too, he decided. After all, he was Ron’s best mate and it would be rude not to include him if he was including Hermione. For Neville, he picked out a quick-notes-quill and pad, that would take notes for him. Neville was an unusually clumsy and forgetful boy, and he hoped that the quill and pad would make things easier for him. Then, on an impulse, he decided to get something for Professor Snape, as well. Part of him felt somewhat uneasy about doing it...but, he pushed those feelings away. Snape was  _ not  _ trying to kill him. And he didn’t know if it was common for the students to send their Head of House something for the holidays, but it seemed as though it  _ should  _ be. After all, Snape was the only one in all of Hogwarts who favoured them. But what should he get him? Harry hardly knew the man, after all…

In the end, he chose a set of narrow vials; something he could use to hold potion ingredients. Harry remembered him complaining about how the Gryffindor students kept breaking the ones he had. And these ones seemed...special. Real silver stoppers, with the option to have them personalized with the addition of a metal figurine added. The picture showed a dragon that stopped anyone but the owner from getting into them-- his mind immediately flashed to Ron, who he was sure had  _ stolen _ the ingredients for his failed potion. Maybe this would stop that from happening again--and there was a little line at the bottom, giving them space to request something. 

Harry quickly scribbled a single word and then moved onto the next page, hoping that he’d made the right choice. 

And now, it was time to pick out something for Draco. Only, he was just like his parents. He had everything; so what was he supposed to get him? He scanned the paper, again, and was just about to give up completely and merely  _ ask  _ Draco what he wanted, when something interesting caught his eye. A small dragon figurine, advertised to guard the owner’s possessions. It was supposed to breathe real fire and have a nasty bite. Delighted, Harry circled it.

Staring down at the catalogue, all presents accounted for, Harry briefly wondered if he should send the Dursleys something. He pushed the thought out of his head as quickly as it arrived. They’d chuck anything from him straight into the bin. No point in wasting Galleons. 

“You finished?” 

Draco asked, suddenly, looking up at Harry. 

“Yeah.” Harry said, slowly folding his pamphlet. They stuck both of them into an envelope and sent it off with Draco’s owl, Kronos. Draco assured him that they’d get the gifts delivered that night, pre-wrapped and with names already on them. Harry frowned, feeling that may be cheating, but didn’t argue. There was no sense in trying to explain to the Malfoy Heir why he felt inclined do things the ‘muggle’ way from time to time. 

“Come on, let’s go get breakfast.” Draco said, once his owl was well on its way out. Harry agreed, his stomach growling. They raced, again, and this time Harry almost won.

* * *

After breakfast, which had been an usually quiet affair with only the two of them, Draco and Harry had been about to go and practice advanced spells in the “magic” room when they were brought to a halt by Narcissa, who appeared in the hall. There was something off about her, Harry noticed, but it wasn’t anything that was easy to spot. She was as put together as he’d ever seen her. Hair perfectly coiffed, clothing unwrinkled...no, whatever was off about her was internal, Harry decided. Something inside that made her eyes darker than usual; her expression more restrained. 

“Good morning, boys.” She greeted them, fondly. Her tone seemed normal, and Harry relaxed a bit. Maybe it was just his imagination. “Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes, mother.” Draco said. He gave an odd little twitch, like he was about to go and hug Narcissa, but changed his mind at the last second with a glance at Harry, startling the other boy when he realized that Draco was afraid of embarrassing himself. That was so unlike anything that Harry had ever seen with other mothers and their sons. Aunt Petunia was always hugging Dudley. Sometimes, even though Aunt Petunia’s presence was unpleasant and suffocating, Harry still  _ envied  _ his cousin for having someone to go to when he needed to be comforted. He wondered why Draco didn’t act on the need to have someone reassure him. 

“Excellent. Now, I’m sure you boys are off to cause trouble, but you wouldn’t mind coming to the parlor to help me with the tree, would you?” 

The Malfoy Matriarch stepped closer to them, wrapping an arm around both of them and wrapping them into a hug. Harry stiffened, at first, but then relaxed. Draco seemed bemused when she stepped back, though. 

“The tree?” He repeated. “But I thought you said that we couldn’t have it up until the Manor was decorated for the party?” 

“Yes, well...about that…” 

Narcissa straightened up with a smile. 

“We’ve decided against holding a party, this year. Lucius and I both agreed that a nice, quiet Christmas is what we really need.”

Draco gaped at his mother. 

“But--Mother! You’ve  _ never  _ gone without hosting…” 

He trailed off, looking as though he was struggling for words. Harry was torn between laughing and feeling apprehensive. He’d never seen Draco so speechless and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

“Is something wrong?” Draco finally asked, his tone verging on tentative now. Narcissa straightened up to her fullest height, reaching out to fondly pat Draco on the cheek.

“Of course not, darling. Why would you think that anything is wrong? Now...I know it’s a bit of a tradition for us, but I’m sure none of our guests will mind having to wait until next year to come and gawk at us, hmm? After all...it’s your first year at Hogwarts and neither your father or I was prepared for how much we were going to miss you.” 

She blinked rapidly, almost furiously, as though trying to banish tears from her eyes. But, her gaze was quite dry when it shifted to Harry. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to ask him to leave. But, instead, she smiled.

“And, of course, it’s Harry’s first time here. We shouldn’t overwhelm him. He has so much to learn, yet, about the Wizarding world. We’ll have the party next year. But, for now, let’s enjoy what little peace we have.” 

Draco seemed placated by the reassurances, but his shoulders were still a little tense. Harry felt the urge to reach out and hug him, but wasn’t sure that was the right thing to do. He, after all, had no idea what was upsetting him so much. Maybe he wasn’t upset at all; just surprised. There was no way of knowing with Narcissa so close. Harry knew Draco well enough to know that he wouldn’t say anything that might upset his mother. 

“I think we’d love to help you set up the tree, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry said, quickly, speaking for both of them. Draco nodded along, his lips still pressed into a frown that Narcissa seemed not to notice. 

“Excellent, dears. I’ll have Dobby go and fetch the decorations from the attic. You two, wait for me in the sitting room, please?” 

With that, she took off, disappearing down the hall without another word. 

“You alright, Draco?” Harry asked, as soon as he thought that he was out of earshot. The other boy nodded.

“Of course I am. I was just...surprised. That’s all. Mother and Father have never cancelled on one of their parties, before.” 

Draco puffed out his chest, in a transparent display of bravado. 

“You can imagine why not. They’re highly demanded hosts. Our gatherings are always perfect.” 

“...Malfoy.” Harry said, reaching out to tug lightly on the other boys sleeve. “It’s just me. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay if you’re not.” 

Draco yanked his arm away, cheeks reddening. 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Potter.” He snapped harshly. Harry flinched and Draco’s suddenly looked guilty. “I didn’t mean to...I’m just worried, alright? My parents have never cancelled on anything. These parties are how they keep up appearances. Something could be wrong if they’re not having one.” 

“Well, she did say she missed you.” Harry offered, half-heartedly. He didn’t know the Malfoys, not like Draco did. If something felt off to him, then something must really be wrong. It put him on edge to think about. 

“...I suppose.” 

Draco didn’t seem less reluctant, but started to head down the hall, wordlessly leading Harry to the sitting room where they were supposed to meet Narcissa. The tension didn’t leave Malfoy’s shoulders and Harry’s own stomach twisted, wondering if he was partially to blame for the reason that the Malfoys were suddenly acting so oddly. 

* * *

The sitting room was warm and bright when they arrived, the fireplace crackling merrily and a bare tree sitting in the corner. Its branches were covered with enchanted snow, Draco showed Harry. The snow was cool to the touch but wouldn’t melt no matter how hot the room became. Harry was fascinated, and Draco offered him the chance to take a handful of it to play with, but was politely refused by Harry, who didn’t want to ruin the perfect tree. 

They weren’t alone for long. Narcissa appeared with both a bright smile on her face and a tray of biscuits, with Dobby trailing behind her. He was dragging a large box with some considerable effort, his small face pinched with concentration and Harry started forward with concern when the house-elf tripped over the corner of the rug.

“Dobby is fine, Master Potter!” The house-elf squeaked out, before Harry could touch him. The wee thing pulled himself back to his feet, smiling quite happily at the young boy. “Dobby is happy to be helping Mistress Malfoy bring in the decorations.”

“Thank you, Dobby.” Narcissa said, kindly. “Why don’t you go and have a rest?”

“Oh, thank you, Mistress!” Dobby said, his large eyes widening with happiness. He waggled his ears and disappeared with a CRACK, leaving Harry staring at the spot where he vanished with fascination.

“Can all house elves do that?” He asked, looking to Draco and Narcissa. Draco had snagged a treat from the tray, and was nibbling at it, so it was Mrs. Malfoy who answered.

“Oh, yes. They’re a bit louder than Wizards, but that’s because their magic works differently.” 

“They can levitate things, too.” Draco added, hastily swallowing a mouthful of biscuit. “When I was very small, I accidentally floated myself up to the rafters of the attic, and he lowered me back down.” 

Harry laughed, unable to help it. The thought of Draco trapped in a high place and having to be helped down by someone as small as Dobby was too amusing not to, and he ignored his friend’s annoyed look. Narcissa seemed just as amused by the memory, flicking her wand at the box and causing it to fly open. Gleaming decorations came bobbing out; red and white baubles, glittering glass ornaments, streams of tinsel, and delicate angels that really fluttered their wings. They stayed frozen in midair and Narcissa smiled approvingly at them. 

“Harry,” Draco said, nudging the plate toward him. “Aren’t you going to have a biscuit?” 

Harry froze, slightly surprised. His gaze shifted to the plate. He’d seen stacks of treats like those before, sitting on the Dursleys gleaming counter. He couldn’t remember how old he’d been when he first took notice of them, but did remember reaching for one and having his hand smacked by a wooden spoon. Aunt Petunia had loomed over him, threatening to make him swallow a whole bottle of vinegar if he even thought about touching one of Dudley’s treats. That they were for good children only. 

The memory got caught in his throat, making it hard to breathe, and Harry shook his head at Draco’s offering. The other boy’s face fell, slightly, and he put the plate back. Narcissa frowned at both of them, but said nothing about it. Instead, she gestured to the fragile decorations hovering in front of them. 

“Alright, you two. Go ahead and grab whatever ones you’d like, and put them wherever you want.” 

Both boys hesitated: Harry, out of fear of breaking the delicate things, and Draco out of confusion. 

“Don’t you have a plan for the tree, mother?” He asked, his forehead creasing. To Harry, he said, “Every year, mother and I decorate the tree together. And there’s always a theme; it has to be symmetrical and perfect.” 

“Not this year.” Narcissa said, firmly. “No need to put on a show. This is a tree just for us, and so we can have it however we’d like. Go on, start putting them on.” 

Harry looked to Draco for guidance, and was nudged forward. So, he reached out and hesitantly grabbed one of the sturdier looking baubles. It fell into his hand and he shuffled forward, carefully, delicately placing it on one of the branches. The hook held strong, and he felt an enormous sense of relief. It started to glow with a soft light as soon as it was on the tree, surprising and delighting the young boy. 

Draco generous display of patience with allowing Harry to put his ornament on had run thin, and he plucked three decorations out of the air without a second thought, running to the tree and putting them in awkward positions, seeming to delight in the freedom of not having to make it perfect. Narcissa delicately placed some of the decorations onto the branches that neither of the boys could reach, smiling to herself. The decorations, much like everything in the Manor, were a new magic unto themselves. Silver bells that chimed soft tunes; baubles that glowed different coloured lights, and even a few that came to life once near the tree, flying around the branches and playing in the snow. 

One or two of them were not magic at all, he noticed. One was made of popsicle sticks, crudely fashioned to look like a reindeer. Draco shifted as though to try and hide it from Harry, but it was too late. The smaller boy had already seen it and grinned widely; not to make fun of his friend for having made an ornament, but out of sheer delight. He’d never thought of Draco as being someone who would craft anything with his hands. 

The more decorations that they put on the tree, the more confident that Harry became. Soon, he was moving just as quickly as Draco, a silent race between them to see who could get the rest of the trinkets on the tree the fastest. They hurried to grab them from the air, placing them sporadically on the tree. The game was thrilling to Harry; he’d never been allowed to help with the tree before! Never been allowed to touch Aunt Petunia’s lovely decorations or even look directly at the tree...only been able to snag glimpses it of it, as though his Aunt and Uncle feared that he might set the tree on fire with a mere glance. 

That thought distracted him and he didn’t lift his foot quite the right way, snagging it on the rug. He nearly fell forward, only just managing to catch himself. The same could not be said for the delicate glass bauble in his hand. It slipped through his fingers and crashed against the floor, shattering into bits. 

Harry froze in place. His shocked gaze shifted from the destroyed decoration to both Draco and Narcissa’s concerned expressions, hardly able to see them. Because, to his horror, he immediately started to cry. 

He didn’t wail like his cousin Dudley would, whenever he wanted to get his way. It was a silent horror, hot tears slipping down his cheeks and shuddering breaths sucked in as he tried to think of a way to apologize. 

Narcissa quickly stepped toward him and Harry flinched, expecting to be hit. He was dizzy with the memories of every time he’d accidentally drop a plate or a glass at the Dursleys, and how furious his aunt and uncle would be. Narcissa froze when he flinched, but only for a moment before she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Shh, shh…” She quieted him, gently petting his hair. Draco moved closer too. Harry couldn’t see him, and maybe that was a good thing. His friend’s face had gone very pale, as though he was seeing Harry for the first time, and that may have made the boy cry harder if he’d known about it. Of the many things that Harry and Draco had shared in their months of friendship, tears were not one of them. Draco never seemed to cry about anything, and Harry had been so exhilarated by all things magic that he never found a reason to be upset. 

Slowly, soothed by Narcissa’s quiet voice, the tears stopped. Embarrassment took place of the upset, and he finally managed to mumble out an apology.

“I’m so-sorry, Narcissa. I-I didn’t mean to, it-”

“It’s of no consequence, Harry.” Narcissa said, allowing him to step back when he started to pull away. He nearly stepped back onto broken glass, but Draco wisely tugged him out of the way. His hands were shaking and his insides felt cold, as though he’d swallowed some of that enchanted snow. Harry stared at Draco, unsure of what to do or say. He’d just broken something, after they were so nice to him. How could that not be a problem? 

Draco said nothing, either, just staring at Harry. Then, seeming to have made up his mind about  _ something _ , he suddenly started forward and plucked an ornament off of the tree. Then, looking Harry in the eye, he threw it down onto the floor. It shattered, too. 

Harry gaped at him, while Draco only smiled impishly back at him. Narcissa gazed at the two of them...before she reached up and grabbed one of her own and threw it down too, away from Draco to avoid hurting him with the shards. Harry stared at them both, suddenly sure that they were crazy.

And then...he started to laugh.

It was a surprised, helpless sound. The sort of the sound that you can only make when your best mate and their mother decide to break their own things to make you feel better. Draco started laughing too,  while his mother pulled back her sleeves and pointed her wand at the mess.

“ _ Reparo.”   _ She said, firmly. The shards of glass pulled themselves from the floor and and fibers of the rug, coming together to recreate the shattered decorations. Narcissa gently hung them on the tree, herself, and then smiled at Harry again. “See? No harm done.” 

Harry smiled at her. He wasn’t quite at ease, yet...but it was a better feeling than before. 

Draco stepped closer, taking another biscuit off of the plate, and then offering it to Harry again. This time, he took one, tentatively nibbling at it. 

It was delicious.


	19. Chapter 19

Christmas Eve had arrived at the Malfoy Manor before long and with it came the delicious scents of fresh baked biscuits and roasting meats from the kitchens below, tantalizing Harry where he was lounging across Draco’s bed, flipping through his comics. Unlike the ones that Harry had found in Dudley’s old room, they weren’t centered around superheros. No, they featured the fantastic adventures of brilliant wizards and all that they had accomplished. Malfoy smugly told Harry that the reason he owned the set was because his own grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, was mentioned in one of them, for his work in the Ministry. 

That was the one that Draco was reading, Harry noted, as he rolled onto his stomach and set his comic aside. Malfoy was seated on the floor, grey eyes shifting endlessly as he consumed the story. He seemed pleased, but Harry was unable to tell if it was because his grandfather had done something impressive or if it was simply well written. Maybe it was just that it was rare for them to read anything that was unrelated to their schooling...or just because it was a nice distraction from the yearning for the Christmas dinner that they wouldn’t be able to do more than smell until tomorrow.

Harry’s stomach growled again at the reminder and he groaned.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Draco asked, lifting his gaze upwards. His soured mood over the cancellation of the party had faded as it became more and more clear that nothing was  _ wrong  _ with his parents, apart from wanting to celebrate the holiday without the hassle of an event, and it left him with an almost sweeter disposition.

“Nothing. Just a bit...tired, I think.” Harry confessed, pushing his glasses out of the way so that he could rub at his eyes. He was tired...but that was only part of it. The truth was, he was sort of bored of reading and found himself wishing that Wizards had things like television or computer games. The sort of things he would sneak when the Dursleys were out of the house. But that wasn’t something he could tell Draco. Not only because it may offend him, but because then he’d have to explain the concepts behind a computer and television. 

“Well, wake up! We’ve only got another twenty minutes until eleven, and then we can open up a present. It’s a tradition.” Draco said, somewhat crossly. He rose from the floor and jumped onto the bed next to Harry, making both of them bounce. 

“Do all Wizards do that?” Harry asked, righting his glasses back on his face.

“Yes! I mean...no.”

Draco suddenly looked a little embarrassed.

“Most people do it at Midnight, so that it’s technically Christmas when they open the present. But...Mother and Father don’t want me up that late.”

Harry laughed, earning himself a glare from Malfoy. But he just couldn’t help it. The idea of someone has stubborn and spoiled as Draco being thwarted by  _ bedtime _ was very amusing.   
  
“What one were you reading, anyway?” Draco asked, changing the subject. His ears were still red, but he wore his most dignified expression as he picked up the comic that Harry set aside. “Oh. Of course.  _ Dumbledore’s _ .” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry asked, picking up a note of distaste from Draco’s voice. “Don’t you like the Headmaster?” 

“I guess.” Draco said, setting it back down. “But he doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean...he’s  _ famous,  _ Harry. Not like you are, but because of all the things he’s done. He’s got his own chocolate frog card, his own comic...he defeated a dark wizard  _ and  _ everyone says he’s the only one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was ever really scared of. But if he’s so powerful, what is he doing running a school?” 

“Maybe he wants to teach us to be great like him?” Harry suggested, slightly defensive. He didn’t know the Headmaster very well, but...he just had a nice feeling about him. He must be very kind indeed, with the way Hagrid spoke about him. And with the way that he allowed Harry to come to Hogwarts. Malfoy would never understand what that meant to him. 

“But he’s not a teacher.” Draco pointed out, stubbornly. “He doesn’t teach us anything. He just runs the school. Someone that powerful should be running the world. Or trying to, anyway. It makes people nervous that he doesn’t even try, you know. Father says that the Minister has never trusted him.”

“You don’t like him because he’s not a polotician?” 

“Politician.” Draco corrected him. Harry just shrugged. He didn’t know anything about the system in Britain, let alone the Magic World. How would he? The Dursleys kept him in the dark about everything. The only thing he really understood, here, was that Draco didn’t trust the Headmaster for  _ not  _ acting like a Slytherin. And there was no way to explain why that was right  _ or  _ wrong. So, he switched tactics.

“Do you have his chocolate frog card?” Harry asked. “Or any of them? Millie keeps saying that I should start a collection, but I haven’t tried one of them, yet. I don’t want to bite something that moves like it’s alive.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” Draco advised him. “They’ve only got one really good jump in them, anyway. Then they’re just like normal chocolate. But I do have a collection. The most impressive one you’ll ever see, I’d wager.” 

Just like that, his frustration with the Headmaster was forgotten and the two of them scrambled off of his bed to find his collection. Harry followed Draco’s lead, pleased with himself for distracting him. 

“They’re in here.” Draco said, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a small box. He uncapped it, and showed Harry the thick stack of cards inside, most of which had been cleaned of all traces of chocolate. “Go on, then. Let’s look through them. This is a good way to learn who all the really great wizards are.” 

He turned the box upside down and dumped them all onto the floor. Harry lowered himself down after them and started to grab handfuls of them, genuinely interested in what they had to tell. 

_ Herpo the Foul _ , an ancient Greek Wizard who created the Basilisk.

_ Falco Aesalon _ , the first recorded Animagus. 

_ Merlin _ , the most famous wizard of all time. Even Muggles knew about him!

_ Wendelin the Weird _ , a witch who enjoyed being burnt at the stake so much that she let herself get captured fourteen times. 

_ Gunhilda of Gorsemoor _ , A one-eyed, humpbacked witch famous for developing a cure for Dragon pox.

Card after card only increased Harry’s fascination. More amazing than the descriptions of their feats, though, was the pictures! He’d seen the Portraits around Hogwarts move around, but it was a strange and wonderful feeling to be holding something so small that could do the same thing. He watched with fascination as Gunhilda rubbed her one, good eye and he held onto each one longer than Draco held onto all of his, combined, discarding them as soon as he grabbed them with the disinterest of someone who had gone through their collection a million times already. 

“Oh, here’s Dumbledore’s.” Draco said, glancing at the name only once before tossing it at Harry, who caught it out of the air. Draco hummed approvingly, muttering something about ‘Seekers’ and making Harry grin. He glanced down at the card, surprised by the nervous jolt he felt when he found the image of the headmaster staring back at him, with far more intelligence than the other cards had carried. They had all seemed more or less unaware that they were in a card; going about their business as though they were still where they were when the photograph was taken. But Dumbledore...well, he was looking at Harry as though waiting for something. 

Harry dropped his eyes to the text beneath the man’s name, if only to give himself something to do besides look at the Headmaster. 

“Draco...DRACO!” He suddenly exclaimed, falling over himself in an attempt to get closer to his friend. He fell forward, face planting against the cards that Draco had started to meticulously arrange, and earned himself a glare from his friend. 

“What?” He asked, pushing Harry off of the cards, but Harry pushed back, too excited to care that he was making a mess.

“I found him!” He hissed, urgently. “I found Flamel!” 

“What?!”

Draco’s eyes widened and he snatched the card from Harry’s hand, mumbling the words aloud to himself as Harry waited by his side, bouncing with excitement. 

“ **Albus Dumbledore** , currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood and his work on alchemy with his partner,  _ Nicolas Flamel. _ Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.”

Draco lowered the card, meeting Harry’s gaze with the same excitement.

“You did it! You found--I mean,  _ we  _ found him.” Draco said, raising the card victoriously in the air. “You read it, but it’s my card, so…”

“Can you forget about who found him?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes at his friend’s need to claim victory. “What’s important is that he  _ was  _ found. And that he’s...he’s a…”

“Alchemist.” Draco said, providing the word for him. But, then he frowned. “But that’s just turning things into gold. Why would Dumbledore being using a hellhound to guard  _ gold _ ? That’s what we use Gringotts for. He must be barking if he’s this paranoid about his fortune.” 

“Well...maybe it’s not the gold, itself?” Harry suggested, after a moment. “Maybe it’s whatever they used to turn things into gold. Like the recipe for a potion.” 

Draco’s eyes lit up again. 

“If that’s what it is...I’d bet we could find information about it in the library! Father has loads of books...and there’s no hag of a librarian to stop us from getting work done.” 

“Let’s go now!” 

Thrilled by the call of a new challenge, both Draco and Harry scrambled to their feet. Chocolate frog cards flew everywhere, and they pushed and shoved each other on their way out of the door, crashing into a very surprised Mr. Malfoy. He stumbled back a few paces, hands reaching out to grab both Harry and Draco by their shoulders, keeping them from falling too. 

“Draco, Mr. Po--Harry. What are you two doing?” Lucius asked, letting go of them once he was sure that they weren’t going to fall and looking down at them with a scolding expression on his face. Draco met his gaze, but Harry looked down at the floor, rooted to the spot with fear. In his excitement, he’d almost forgotten that he and Draco weren’t the only two people in the world, and was sure that Mr. Malfoy was going to send him back on the spot. 

“Nothing, Father. We were just-”

“Excited about your gifts?” Lucius asked, interrupting with a tsking sound. Harry looked back up, startled by the mention of gifts. That was another thing he’d somehow forgotten--he and Draco were supposed to meet the Malfoys downstairs so that Draco and his family could open their presents. 

“...Yes, Father.” Draco said, smoothly. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“No need to apologize, Draco. Just be sure that you’re more careful, in the future.” Lucius sighed, gesturing for the two of them to move past him. They did, silently shuffling down the stairs to the room where they had decorated the tree. Narcissa was waiting there, a silvery tray of fizzing cider floating next to her. 

“Ah, boys! There you are. Draco, did you see your father? I sent him upstairs to fetch you two when you didn’t come down. Did you lose track of time?” 

“We did,” Harry said, honestly, when Draco seemed to entranced by the pile of presents to answer. He was already scanning them, trying to decide which one he’d open. “Draco was showing me his chocolate frog card collection.” 

“Oh, yes. He’s very proud of that.” Narcissa said, fondly but somewhat absently. She was looking to Draco, seeming to be at the ready to pull him back at any moment if his hands became as greedy as his gaze. Right now, it seemed that he’d tear into all of his presents in a moment’s notice. 

“Manners, Draco.” Lucius called as he entered the room, still looking somewhat rumpled from them knocking into him. He didn’t seem angry, though, and that was a relief to Harry. “You know the rules. Guests first.” 

Draco reluctantly stepped back away from the tree, but his eyes didn’t leave the gift he seemed to have decided he’d open; one with particularly shiny wrapping paper. He nudged Harry.

“You first.” 

“Me?” 

Harry looked from Draco to his parents with surprise, mouth slightly agape. What did they mean, him? The only gift he’d been anticipating was the one from Draco, and he was sure that one wouldn't arrive until Christmas morning. The Dursleys wouldn’t have sent him anything, would they? 

“Of course, Harry. Guests always go first.” Narcissa said, her tone light. “Yours are over to the side, there...I put them away from Draco’s, because he sometimes forgets to read the names written on the packages when he gets into it.” 

She pointed to a considerably smaller pile than the rest of them had, but a pile nonetheless. From where he was standing, he could see his name scrawled in Hagrid’s familiar handwriting on one of them, and he hardly dared to breathe. 

“I...I’ve got presents?” He asked, waiting for the punchline. For the laughter and the ridicule. That could be the only response; it had to be a joke. Aunt Petunia’s words from every Christmas before rang in his head like the chiming of silver bells would. ‘ _ Only good boys gets presents’.  _

Lucius and Narcissa shared a glance, expressions unreadable. Draco was the one to break the tension, the meaning behind Harry’s uncertainty lost on him and his want to open his gifts.

“Of course you do! What were you expecting, coal? Come on, don’t make me wait.” He whined. His petulance was the only thing that could get Harry moving, and he stumbled forward with uncertainty. He decided to save Hagrid’s gift for tomorrow, and instead grabbed one with unfamiliar handwriting. Retreating with it, he sat down onto the couch and carefully removed the wrapping paper. It was a small gift from Ron--a bag of every flavour beans with a note that simply said ‘Happy Christmas’ on it, but it warmed Harry in a way that he couldn’t explain. If Ron was willing to reach out like this...even without knowing that Harry had done the same, then maybe there was hope for a friendship after all. 

Mr. Malfoy and Draco wore matching scowls. Lucius said nothing, however, unlike Draco. 

“I hope that Weasel doesn’t think a bag of candy is going to make up for almost melting your face off.” Draco fumed. Harry just shrugged his shoulders. 

“It’s a start.” 

That was all he had to say about the matter, much to Draco’s displeasure. But he wasn’t mad for long. His turn to open a present came and he was much quicker about grabbing one. Something from a relative. It turned out to be a set of sugar quills, and his face fell slightly. Apparently, he’d been hoping for something more exciting, but wisely didn’t complain. Narcissa went next, opening a gift from the same relative. It was a gleaming broach, crusted with emeralds, and she seemed taken with it. Mr. Malfoy was last, and the least finicky about which he chose. He grabbed one at random, pulling the paper off without a second thought, and then sighing at the bottle of firewhisky. 

“The Minister,” He said, at Narcissa’s questioning glance. “I do keep telling him that we don’t drink...ah, well. Perhaps your cousin can benefit from this?” 

“Which?” Narcissa asked, somewhat dryly. 

Draco tugged on Harry’s sleeve. 

“I don’t suppose you know what a sugar quill, is?” He asked, clearly trying to take Harry’s attention away from Ron’s gift. “Well, it’s a-”

“No candy, Draco.” Narcissa said. She pointed her wand at the boys’ gifts. “ _ Accio. _ ”

They flew out of their hands and landed neatly in her lap.

“It’s time for you two to get some rest. We’ll open more gifts in the morning, alright?” 

Harry nodded, nudging Draco when it seemed like he might try and argue. Draco closed his mouth again and conceded. 

“Yes, mother.” 

He stepped forward, allowing Narcissa to hug him and press a kiss to his cheek. Harry stepped forward too, when Narcissa gestured for him to do so, surprised when she did the same to him. Surprised...but not unhappy. 

Lucius patted both boys fondly on the shoulder as they passed him by, bidding them a quiet goodnight. They raced up the stairs, missing the worried look that Narcissa gave Lucius, and the whispered conversation that would follow. 

Upstairs, Harry and Draco both paused outside of their bedrooms, to say their own goodnights to each other. It still felt strange to Harry, not having Draco sleeping in the bed next to his, but he tried to be as cheery as possible about it. 

“Well...night then, Draco.” He said, giving a little wave. Draco looked at him considerably...then dashed forward to give him an unexpected hug. It was somewhat clumsy, and he retreated before Harry could really react, his cheeks tinged pink. If there was anything that Draco didn’t seem naturally good at, it was showing affection. So, Harry appreciated the gesture all the more for it. 

“...Night, Potter.” He said, with great dignity, before he turned and marched into his bedroom. Harry grinned to himself, and did the same. 

* * *

CRACK.

Harry was startled awake the next morning by the characteristic sound of a House-Elf appearing out of thin air, his eyes snapping open and blinking blearily at the shape of the elf.

“Dobby?” He asked, reaching for his glasses. He pulled them onto his face, and found that the Elf was smiling at him.

“Yes! Dobby has come to wake Harry Potter!” He said, his great ears flapping as he shook his head. “Dobby was ordered by Master Draco to make sure that your eyes were open, because Mistress Narcissa instructed Master Draco not to wake Harry Potter. But Dobby was given no such orders!”

The Elf giggled somewhat manically and Harry laughed too. It was funny to see that the little creature was so delighted in breaking the rules...even if they weren’t rules that he had to abide by.

“Psst!”

Draco’s voice suddenly hissed through the other side of the door.

“Dobby! Code Red! Mother is coming--is the subject awake, yet!”

Dobby jumped off of Harry’s bed, tripping over himself to dash to the door. He jumped up, grabbing the handle, and pulling down on it so that the door would creak open.

“Yes, Master Draco! Dobby has done as you asked! Harry Potter is awake! Mission is complete, Sir.”

“Excellent! Now go back to the kitchens before Mother catches us!” Draco said. Dobby nodded in understanding, giving Harry a little wave before vanishing. Draco pushed the door the rest of the way open, feigning surprise at seeing Harry sitting up in bed.

“Harry!” He said, a bit too loudly, and for Narcissa’s sake. “You’re awake! Well, don’t just lie there--it’s Christmas!!!!”

“Christmas?” Harry repeated. He’d been so bemused by Dobby that he’d almost forgotten about that entirely, and quickly threw the blankets off of himself. He’d never been excited about the holiday before! The Dursleys never included him in the festivities...not unless Dudley wanted to make Harry jealous of all of his new toys and games. But, this time, he had a few presents under the tree! The ones from Hagrid and Draco...well, that was two more than he usually got!

He ducked out into the hall, still dressed in his pajamas, just in time for Narcissa to make it all the way up the stairs. As soon as she saw that Harry was awake, she cast a suspicious glance at Draco.

“Did you wake him? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I told you not to-”

“I didn’t!” Draco protested at the same time that Harry assured, “He didn’t!”

Narcissa looked at them both, suspiciously, but seemed to discern that, at least, Harry wasn’t lying. So, with a quiet sigh, she relented.

“Alright. Come along, then. Lucius is already downstairs.”

Draco didn’t wait for his mother to lead the way. Grabbing Harry by his wrist, he led him down the stairs as quickly as he could, nearly tripping once and having to grab onto the banister to keep from falling over. At last, they’d reached the parlor, where Mr. Malfoy was waiting. Like his wife, he was already full dressed and put together. His smile was a bit warmer than usual, however, and he mused Draco’s hair as they passed him by.

“There’s no order, on Christmas.” Draco said, somewhat triumphantly, as he grabbed the first gift that caught his eye. “Go ahead and grab one!”

Harry turned to find his own, small pile...but stopped dead in his tracks. The small pile had grown considerably larger overnight. His name scrawled in handwriting he couldn’t recognize, but all of them undeniably being meant for him.

Even so, he looked back at Lucius, who had been joined by Narcissa.

“These...are for me?” He asked, with no small amount of uncertainty.

“Do you know any other Harry Potters?” Lucius asked dryly, as Narcissa nodded approvingly.

“Go on, Harry.” She said. “They’re all for you.”

Harry turned back to the pile, a lump rising up in his throat. He was more selective than Draco, carefully looking over each gift. He picked up the gift from Hagrid, first. Inside was a roughly cut, wooden flute. To flaws to it made it clear that Hagrid had whittled it himself, and Harry was oddly warmed inside. To think that anyone would spend that amount of time on something for him…

He lifted it up to his mouth and blew a note. It sounded a bit like an owl, and he grinned. Lucius looked slightly disgruntled by the state of the gift, but said nothing as it seemed to make Harry so happy.  

Next, he opened a gift from Pansy. It was a simple gift of gloves, her note saying that they were enchanted to heat up the wearer’s hands and were apparently waterproof for playing in the snow. Delighted, Harry yanked them on to test them. They immediately warmed up, and he pressed them to his face. They were cool to the touch on the outside...these would be incredibly useful for time spent with the Dursleys! Every winter, he still had to tend to the outside, even in the and...and…

Harry suddenly got a funny feeling in his stomach. He’d never be at the Dursleys for Winter again, he realized. He’d only be spending the summers there. No more cold nights spent outside, touching up the paint.

Startled, he swallowed back against his excited thoughts and pulled the gloves off, reaching for his next present. This one was signed as being from all the Weasleys. (Lucius gritted his teeth over that one, but looked away when Harry glanced back, pretending to be interested in the matching set of gloves that Pansy had sent Draco.) Harry tore into it, finding a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. The sweater was well-made and featured a golden snitch that buzzed around the fabric. Harry was impressed by it, and even considered pulling it on, but stopped at the look on Draco’s face. Instead, he folded it nicely and set it down alongside the fudge, busying himself with the note that had come along with it.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I had Mr. Weasley reach out to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy in the hopes that this gift would find its way to you. This family can’t thank you enough for what you did for Ron--I have no idea what we would have done if he was expelled from school during his first week and consider myself so very lucky that there are children as kind as you, even when people have done nothing to deserve it. Rest assured, Ronald will never again pull a stunt like that and I hope that you can find these gifts as an acceptable token of my appreciation.  _

 

_ Warmest regards, _

_ Molly Weasley. _

  
  


Harry laughed to himself, setting aside the letter and pausing for moment in his gift unwrapping to see what Draco had gotten into, so far. Beside Pansy’s gift, Draco had also torn into a pack of Chocolate Frogs from Blaise, and new Chess Set from another Malfoy relative. He had just grabbed the package from Harry, though, and he inched closer to watch his friend open it. 

“Brilliant!” Draco exclaimed as the small dragon slid out of the wrapping paper. It was the first verbal reaction he’d given to any of the gifts, and that put some colour in Harry’s cheeks. “Look!”

He turned to his parents to show them the small creature as it stood in the center of his cupped hands and sniffed at his fingers.

“Quite impressive.” Lucius said.

“Very thoughtful.” Narcissa chimed in.

Harry’s face turned even redder. He was sure they were only saying that to make Harry feel better about himself, and quickly turned back to his own presents so they wouldn’t see how embarrassed he was. The next gift he grabbed was one from Blaise. He’d also gotten a box of chocolate frogs but, unlike Draco, wasn’t put out by the gift. He’d already decided that he wanted to start his own collection.

Next came a gift from Millicent. She’d given him his own Gobstones set. From Crabbe and Goyle, he was given identical boxes of cauldron cakes. A majority of the gifts seemed to be from the Malfoys, themselves. Draco purchased him his own Wizard’s Chess set, while a smaller box proved to be a ring with the Malfoy’s crest on it.

“You’re one of us!” Draco said, excitedly, before Harry could open the box all the way. “Everyone has to treat you well. Otherwise…”

He made a vaguely violent gesture, and was quickly reprimanded by Narcissa.

“Narcissa and I took the...liberty of placing charms on the ring, for you.” Lucius said, while Draco was being scolded. “Like Draco’s, it will always return to you if misplaced or stolen. It will grow to fit your hand, and it does have a few protective charms on it. It should also fit easily under gloves.”

He added that last part as an afterthought, his gaze falling back onto the gift from Pansy. Harry beamed down at the present, immediately slipping it onto his hand. Draco’s ring was his next gift, and he put his on as well.

The boys started to scoot away from the tree, so that Narcissa and Lucius could be next to unwrap their own presents, but Harry was stopped by Draco at the last second.

“Hang on.” He said, reaching for a package that had previously slipped from Harry’s notice. “There’s another one for you, Harry.”

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, reaching for it. Draco handed it over with a shrug, and Harry turned it over in his hands. No name but his own was written on the outside. He weighed it in his hand. It felt extremely light. Curious, he slid off the paper. Something fluid and silvery grey slipped into his hands. It was light as air and textured like the finest silk he could have ever dreamed to touch.

“Good god!”

Harry turned at Lucius’ sudden exclamation, startled.

“Lucius, is that…?” Narcissa asked, her voice hushed. Even Draco seemed startled to silence.

“What? Is it dangerous?” Harry asked, suddenly fearful. He dropped it down, onto his feet...which suddenly disappeared.

He almost screamed with fright, twitching his toes to make sure they were still there, and exhaling sharply with relief when he could feel them. He reached down until his hands touched the slippery fabric and then picked it back up again, showing that he did, in fact, still have feet.

“That’s an invisibility cloak!” Draco said. “Isn’t it, Father?”

“It appears to be.” Lucius agreed, having regained his composure.

"There's a note!" said Draco suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry set aside the cloak and seized the letter, eyes scanning the narrow, looping handwriting. Everyone was looking at him so, feeling self-conscious, Harry read aloud-

_Your Father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_ A very Merry Christmas to you. _

 

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note feeling very, very strange. Could it be that this cloak had really once been worn by his father? Harry, who had never owned anything that his parents had touched, felt both elated and saddened by the thought. He slowly folded the cloak, again, and hugged it to his chest. 

“Does anyone in  _ our  _ family own a-” Draco started to ask, jealousy unmistakable in his eyes, but he was silenced with one look from his mother. Having opened all of their presents, the two of them sat back on the couch so that Narcissa and Lucius could open theirs. No one talked about the cloak, again, but Harry did hold it between himself and Draco so he could feel it. 

Harry noticed that neither Narcissa nor Lucius seemed particularly interested in any of their gifts. Most of them seemed to be presents that were sent with little to no thought; things meant to appease or butter them up for whatever reason, but that were ultimately useless to the pair of them in one way or another. Lucius grimaced with every bottle of wine, and Narcissa received ten shawls, all of which she tossed aside. 

The only gift that really seemed to delight either of them was the one from Draco and Harry. They opened that one together, and Narcissa gasped when they pulled the frame out. Inside, was the picture of Draco and Harry, which both boys got off of the couch and stepped closer to the tree to get a look at. They hadn’t seen the final picture; having sent the film away to be developed by a professional, who offered to frame and gift wrap it for no extra cost. It turned out quite well, Harry thought. With the boys pushing and shoving each other, but mostly just grinning at the camera. 

“Boys…” Narcissa exhaled. “This is…”

“Wonderful.” Lucius said, his smile genuine. 

Despite their positive reactions, Harry still felt strange about being in the photo. Surely, he thought, they would have liked it better if it was only Draco in the picture? Before he could ask, however, the last present under the tree began to shake. Surprised, both Harry and Draco turned to look at it. Black smoke was begin to puff out from beneath the paper. 

“What the-” Draco started to say, but he was cut off by Lucius. 

“BOYS!” The older man barked, suddenly lunging at them. He gathered both Harry and Draco into his arms, and tackled them onto the couch at the same time that Narcissa leapt onto it. Their combined weights tipped it backwards, creating a barrier between them and the gift, which exploded beneath the tree. 

The sound was jarring, and all four of them cringed against the silk cushions that their backs were pressed against. 

“Narcissa.” Lucius said, his voice desperate. 

“I’m fine.” She assured, her voice somewhat breathless. She had the picture frame cradled to her chest with one arm, while her other hand was stretched across both Harry and Draco, who were still halfway huddled into Lucius. Deeming that everyone was uninjured, Lucius jumped back to his feet.

“Stay.” He ordered the two of them. Narcissa gently handed the picture over to Draco as she went to assist her husband with whatever the damages may be. Unable to sit still, both Harry and Draco shifted to peek over the side of the couch.

There was no fire. No damage done to the tree or the other gifts. Just bits of wrapping paper and cardboard littered across the floor. And, for a moment, Harry couldn’t tell what had actually happened. But then, he saw it. There was a serpent on the floor, the same colour as the smoke that had been puffing out of the box. Lucius was watching it like a hawk as it slithered toward the pair of them. He shot a silent hex at it, but it looped its body around, hissing furiously. 

Somehow, Harry got the impression that it was going to  _ bite  _ Narcissa. He didn’t know how he knew that...he could just feel it. And, afraid for her, he suddenly shouted-

“ _ Sine! _ ” 

The serpent halted, turning its head toward Harry. It wasn’t the only one. Draco and his parents looked at him with shock and surprise, but he hardly noticed that. He was too busy looking at the snake, whose head was starting to shift back to Narcissa.

“ _ Ʃe!”  _ Harry shouted, alarmed. The snake heeled, winding its way around Narcissa and Lucius, its focus now on Harry.

“ _ Eat…”  _ It hissed to him. “ _ Bite. Kill. Kill. Kill.” _

_ “Ʃe!”  _ Harry said again. 

The snake stopped moving, just glaring up at him. Before either Harry or the snake could do anything, Lucius stepped foward. 

_ “Vipera Evanasca!”  _ He said. A bolt of light shot out of the tip of his wand, hitting the snake and travelling through its body, reducing it to nothing in a matter of seconds. 

Harry let out a shaky breath of relief, looking up at the Malfoys...but only to find that they were all looking back at him with fear and mistrust in their eyes. 

“...What?” Harry asked, confused. “What did I do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I've been swamped, lately. I've just caught the flu, though, so I decided to utilize the down-time and update. It's just a coincidence that I managed to update during the Holidays, but a very happy one. I think it adds to the atmosphere and I made this chapter much longer than usual to make up for it. Cheers!
> 
> Parseltongue that Harry used:
> 
> "Sine"- Away!
> 
> "Ʃe"- No
> 
> Link to source: https://sites.google.com/site/parseltongue101/word-list


	20. Chapter 20

Draco was the first to move, breaking himself out of his fearful trance to lunge at Harry. For a split-second, Harry actually thought that Draco was going to  _ hit  _ him. But, no. Draco only wrapped his arms around Harry and jumped up and down, shouting as he shook him-

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE A PARSELMOUTH?!” 

“A-A-A W-what?” Harry asked, finding it much more difficult to get words out when Malfoy was shaking him like a rattle.

“Parselmouth.” Lucius echoed, as Narcissa hurried over to pry Draco off of Harry. His grey eyes were cold like steel, and it gave Harry a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach -- reminiscent of how he’d feel whenever Uncle Vernon’s face began to turn purple. It was a sure sign that he was about to be punished, and his hands trembled at his sides. “It refers to those who can speak Parseltongue: the language of the snakes. A very rare gift...but I don’t suppose you knew that.” 

Unable to speak, Harry simply shook his head no. Narcissa frowned, taking note of Harry’s trembling hands.

“Harry, darling, there’s no need to be so frightened.” She said, misreading his fear. “You’re alright -- everyone is alright. See? No harm at all.”

“What were you saying to the snake?” Draco asked, having no patience for Narcissa’s attempt to soothe Harry’s frazzled nerves. “Was that hissing  _ actually  _ words?”

“Hissing?” Harry repeated, looking quizzically at Draco. “I wasn’t...the snake was going to  _ bite  _ Mrs. Malfoy. I just told it not to do that; to go away instead. I wasn’t hissing.”

“Yes, you were!” Draco insisted, looking to his parents for help. “You were speaking Parseltongue. That just sounds like hissing to normal people.”

“ _ Normal people?”  _ Harry repeated, suddenly hurt, but Lucius didn’t give him enough time to dwell on that.

“You didn’t realize you were speaking the language?” He asked, gesturing at the couch with his wand and putting it back right. “I’ve never heard of such a -- well, stranger things have happened, I suppose.” 

The man’s eyes drifted to Harry’s scar where it peeked out beneath his bangs. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Harry looked back to Narcissa. She seemed troubled by all the talk of snake language...or, maybe it was just that she’d nearly been killed by one of her Christmas presents. Harry’s cheeks flushed red, suddenly realizing that all of the excitement of his secret ability had completely disregarded what had almost happened to her. 

“Narcissa?” He asked, somewhat timidly. “Are you okay?” 

Everyone looked to her now. She seemed flustered by the sudden shift of attention, but nodded. 

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you, Harry.” 

“How did that snake get in the box, anyway?” Draco asked, glaring over at the remnants of the present. “What sort of present is  _ that _ ?” 

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a look that did not go unnoticed by Harry. They seemed unhappy with the question, but answered it as best they could. 

“It was likely a joke.” Lucius said, his tone stiff. 

“Most likely.” Narcissa stressed, smiling at the boys. It seemed forced. “Why, if we took the time to go through the remnants of the box, we’d probably find that it was sent from a cousin of mine. Never meant to harm anyone, only shock us a little.”

“I thought jokes were supposed to be  _ funny _ .” 

Harry agreed with Draco’s sentiment...and he couldn’t help but think that the Malfoys weren’t telling them the truth. Somehow -- and he couldn’t explain this, not even to himself -- he’d known what the snake wanted to do. He’d felt it. It didn’t feel like a joke. The creature had actually wanted to  _ bite  _ Narcissa. 

“Our family has a strange sense of humour.” Narcissa said, dismissively. “And now that all of our gifts have been sorted, I say it’s time for breakfast. Come along, boys.” 

Her tone brooked no argument. Draco followed after her, scowling at having been placated with what was clearly a lie and Harry quickly followed suit, not wanting to be the last one in the room with the remnants of the snake. He was almost out the door when the handle of Lucius wand caught him by the shoulder. Startled, he looked back. 

Mr. Malfoy was frowning. 

“S-Sir?” Harry asked, wondering if he was going to be punished now that Draco was no longer in the room. 

“Mr. Potter.” Lucius said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Harry, rather...I don’t wish to alarm you, but I must ask that you tell no one of what has occured here, today.”

“I-”

“Furthermore.” Lucius continued, not giving Harry time to promise that he wouldn’t. “I wish to caution you against telling anyone about your...gift. Parseltongue, extraordinary ability though it is, has come to be associated with...undesirable people. Many dark wizards have carried that ability.” 

Harry’s gulped. 

“But...Mr. Malfoy? That doesn’t mean I’m -- just because I can...surely there have been good Wizards who could do it, too?” He asked, hoping against all hope that he’d been told there was. 

“Of course there has been.” Lucius said, bowing his head slightly. “Just as there have been many good wizards to come from Slytherin. However, much like your house, it will only ever be associated with those few terrible souls that forever left a scar in history. I fear it would be even more damaging for you to have this ability, Harry.” 

“But, why?” Harry asked, feeling more and more confused by the second. The reminder that Slytherin was associated with darkness made his stomach turn; made him want to cry out at the unfairness of it all. “I don’t understand.” 

Lucius sighed.

“...The wizard responsible for that scar on your forehead is also the one most often associated with the ability to speak to snakes. He was an exceptionally gifted parselmouth, and used that to his advantage in the war.” 

“You mean, Voldemo-” Harry started to say, outraged, but Lucius suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, stopping his words in their tracks.

“ _ Do. Not. Speak. His. Name. _ ” 

Harry froze, startled by the way that Lucius hissed at him. Mr. Malfoy, for his credit, seemed aghast by his own actions and quickly let go of Harry, taking a deep breath to force himself to be calmer. 

“Yes, Harry.” He said, finally. “That is exactly what I mean. I cannot force you to keep this ability a secret, but I strongly caution you against sharing it with your friends. Especially those…”

His gaze trailed over to the pile of presents that had been abandoned in the corner of the room, the sweater that Mrs. Weasley had sent Harry sitting on top of them all.

“...Who are not in your house.” He finished.

Harry nodded, somewhat glumly. He hadn’t really thought about telling anyone else...but he also hadn’t decided against it, either. And it seemed so unfair that there was yet another thing about him -- another thing that he couldn’t  _ control  _ \-- that would make people look at him differently. 

“...I won’t tell anyone.”

Lucius looked relieved, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“I understand this may all be very confusing, now...but one day it will all make sense. I promise you that.”

* * *

After a very quiet and tense breakfast, Draco and Harry finally stole away and headed to the library, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy to discuss the events of that morning. They raced each other to the Malfoy’s private library, but without much enthusiasm, still troubled by the events of that morning.

“All of the books are alphabetized.” Draco said, leading Harry over the farthest wall, where the collection began. “Alchemy...A….A...Al...here!” 

He trailed his finger along the titles of books until he found the first in a long line of alchemy related texts, pulling as many off of the shelf as he could and carrying them over to the comfortable couches that sat in the middle of the room. He dropped them all onto the little table and gestured for Harry to take a seat next to him. 

“Do you think we’ll find him in any of these?” Harry asked, looking at the stack of books a bit apprehensive. With his stomach full of bacon and eggs, he was starting to feel tired all over again...and very unwilling to read through book after book, only to turn up with no more information than they already had. 

“Of course we will.” Draco said crossly. “We  _ have  _ to. I bet Pansy isn’t even looking.” 

Harry made a non-committal sound. It seemed as though it had been a lifetime since either he or Draco had been at the Castle, rather than just a few days. He’d almost forgotten that Pansy  _ was  _ supposed to be looking. And -- unlike Draco -- he didn’t actually think that she had taken a break from it. No, not Pan. With her famous journalist aunt, she’d probably been working at it nonstop over the holidays. Feeling appropriately chastised by the idea, Harry reached out and grabbed one of the books off of the stack, flipping to the first page, internally grumbling about the lack of index. 

The hours ticked by. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Their stack of books grew shorter, all of the texts that held nothing of interest being tossed aside with a grunt or hiss of annoyance. Harry was on the verge of giving up, pushing his glasses up so he could rub at his eyes. 

“Draco-” He started to say, about to plead that they give up on the search and wait until they were back at Hogwarts, where they would have more help. But, before he could get the question all the way out of his mouth, Draco interrupted him.

“I found it!” He said, sitting up straight and startling his friend. “I found what Flamel did!” 

“What?!” 

Harry scrambled across the couch, nearly falling into Draco’s lap in his haste to see what he’d found. Draco jabbed his finger against a small section of text, looking immensely proud of himself. 

_ The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a _ _   
_ _ legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight). _

  
  
“The Philosopher's Stone!” Harry exclaimed, pulling back away from Draco and punching the air with triumph. “A stone that makes gold and stops you from every dying...no wonder Dumbledore is using the dog to guard it!” 

“But someone must know it’s there.” Draco said, suddenly looking grim. “Even if it’s not Snape...someone has to be after it.”

Harry nodded, in full agreement.

“We have to talk to Hagrid, again.” He decided, speaking slowly and ignoring the disgusted expression on Draco’s face. “Tell him that we know what Dumbledore is hiding. Maybe he could help us figure out who would want to steal it!”

Draco groaned, sliding off of the couch and onto the floor. 


	21. Chapter 21

The start of a new year found Harry and Draco standing on the platform, bundled up tightly in new coats and carefully watched over by Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy, who had been particularly on edge ever since the snake incident. It was even worse here than it had been at the Manor, with their cool and distant personas set in place, hiding the warmth of the family that Harry had been lucky enough to get to know over the break. He was disorientated by the shift in their personalities, but Draco handled it in stride. 

 

“I bet Blaise and Pan are already on the train.” He said to Harry, looking out at the great, scarlet coloured machine that was snaked so far in the distance on the track. His cool, grey eyes kept scanning the area around them for familiar faces; desperate for the company of someone who wasn’t his parents. “I can’t wait to see them and tell them what we - uh, what we did over the break.” 

 

Harry grimaced, grateful that Draco was as quick to cover his tracks as he was. They’d already decided not to breathe a word of their search to either Lucius or Narcissa, certain that they would be discouraged from learning what it was that Hogwarts is guarding.    
  
“You boys best be off, then,” Narcissa said, smiling at Draco but not moving forward to touch him. She stayed by Lucius, hands folded in front of her. 

 

“You’ll be at the next Quidditch match?” Draco demanded. 

 

“Of course.” 

 

Lucius’ promise was enough to appease him and, just like that, Harry was being dragged onto the train, in search of the compartment that their friends had most certainly settled into. 

 

***

 

Finding them was easy. Pansy had thrust herself out of the compartment the moment she caught a glimpse of them and had nearly tackled them both into the door of another compartment, hugging the breath out of them before dragging them in and shoving them down onto the seats opposite her and Blaise. 

 

Harry thought his ribs might be bruising. 

 

“ ‘Lo, Pan.” He said, as soon as he could breathe. “Missed up, did you?” 

 

“You haven’t the faintest. I spent the entire break being chased by my cousins -- not a single one them is older than seven and they wouldn’t leave me alone for five minutes. And mother  _ insisted _ I play with them every time they asked. It was miserable.” She harrumphed, shooting Draco a nasty look. “Usually, I’d get a break at the Malfoy’s Christmas party, but it was canceled. What did you do to cause that?” 

 

“Nothing!” Draco snapped, aggravated by the accusation. “Mother just wanted to have a family holiday, this year. That’s all.” 

 

Harry’s stomach did a flip at the reminder of Christmas, thinking of the snake and what Lucius had told him. Part of him wanted to confide in Pansy and Blaise and seek their opinion on the subject, but the rest of him knew that he had already given his word to Mr. Malfoy and felt cold inside at the thought of going back on it. 

 

“Forget Christmas,” Harry said, more to himself than to the rest of them. “Draco and I found out who Flamel is.” 

 

Draco puffed out his chest at hearing Harry include him as part of the research team and cast a dark look at the compartment door, making sure that no students were leaning in and trying to listen to their conversation. People were passing by, yes, but not a single one of them seemed concerned with what they were discussing. Satisfied, Draco leaned forward. 

 

“He’s an alchemist, famous for creating -” 

  
“The Philosopher's Stone! It can turn anything into gold  _ and  _ is full of something called the elixir of life!” Harry interrupted a bit excitedly, too impatient to let Draco stretch it out for the drama of it all. 

 

“...Yeah, that.” Draco said, casting a withering look at Harry. “It’s legendary. Apparently, only a few Wizards have ever seen the actual stone and even fewer have been allowed to touch it. Flamel and his wife have lived for a lot longer than the average wizard because of it. Who  _ wouldn’t _ want to have something like that for themselves?” 

 

“MERLIN’S BEARD!” Pansy shrieked, nearly jumping out of her seat. She crashed sideways onto Blaise, falling into his lap, and beating her hands excitedly against his chest. “Do you know what this means?” 

 

“...That someone wants to steal it? I thought we already covered that.” Blaise said, uncertainty. 

 

“It  _ means _ that someone either needs money or to live forever. We can narrow down our suspect list by finding people who fit that description!” 

 

“Does  _ everyone _ want to live forever, though?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows. “ ‘Course, if it is about the money...makes Weasley's family a top contender, doesn’t? If anyone needs the gold…” 

 

He trailed off at the fierce expression on Harry’s face, having the grace to look embarrassed. 

 

“What about Filch? He’s always guarding that corridor. I heard he threatened to hang one of the first years from Ravenclaw up by her thumbs in the dungeons if she ever stepped near it again. Sounds like a bit more than following orders; he doesn’t want anyone else near the stone.” Blaise said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

 

Draco murmured in agreement. 

 

“He did near attack Harry and I when we accidentally came across it… and if anyone needs power, it’s that Squib.” 

 

“What about Dumbledore?” Pansy suggested, more for shock value than an actual accusation. The rest of them gaped at her. “What? It’s always the person you least expect. He’s in charge of guarding it. That’s the perfect cover for theft. Who would suspect our kindly Headmaster?” 

 

“Dumbledore doesn’t need a stone to be powerful,” Harry argued, feeling a strange sort of loyalty to the man, despite hardly knowing him at all. “Everyone says so. Just last week, Draco said it was odd that he never tried to be the Minister of Magic. If he wanted more power, he could just take it, couldn’t he?” 

 

“Harry’s got a point.” Blaise chimed in, nodding in agreement. “Besides, if it’s the person we  _ least  _ suspect, then it’s probably Hagrid or p-p-poor P-P-Professor Quirrell.” 

 

They all laughed at that, amused by the idea of a man as slight and as fearful as Quirrell possibly coming up against a Beast like Fluffy. But then, Draco’s expression turned thoughtful. 

 

“...Hang on.” He said, in a tone that made Harry think he wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “What if it  _ is  _ Hagrid?” 

 

Yep. Harry definitely didn’t like this. 

 

“Draco.” He hissed, shifting uncomfortably. 

 

“I’m serious! He’s practically a servant. If anyone needs the gold, it’s him. And he already admitted that the monster guarding it belongs to  _ him.  _ That thing probably adores him, he doesn’t have to worry about getting mauled. He can slip right past it and get the stone!” 

 

Blaise and Pansy looked impressed by the theory, regarding each other with widening eyes and slow smiles. But Harry kicked Draco. 

 

“It’s not Hagrid.” He said, again, unsure if he really just believed that or if part of him was angry that Draco would have a go at the man who rescued him from the Dursleys. “He was the one who collected the stone from Gringotts in the first place, remember? If he wanted the stone, he already had it and I was the only one with him. I didn’t know anything about magic, then, it would have been easy to get past me. Besides, if getting past Fluffy is all he has to do, then why hasn’t he done it already?” 

 

“Maybe it’s not the only thing guarding it. Dumbledore must be smarter than that. There must be loads more enchantments in the way.” Pansy said, her voice turning resolute. “And you’re the Chosen One. He couldn’t risk getting rid of you just for the stone.” 

 

“It’s not him,” Harry said again, his tone quieter but all the more deadly for it. Mimicking the silken tone that he’s often heard Snape use.    
  
“Alright! Alright. Let’s not settle on any one suspect, for now.” Draco said, diffusing the tension as best he could. He reaches out and wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders, squeezing him until he smiled. “We still need to talk to Hagrid, anyhow. Harry thinks that there’s more that he can tell us about the stone and we can’t walk into it like an interrogation. For now, he’s just our best lead.” 

 

Pansy looked a bit put out and Blaise raised his eyebrows but, wisely, neither of them argued. 

 

And that was that for the conversation, shifting away from the mystery and diving back into conversations of what they had done over the holidays, with Draco keeping his arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulders until Hogwarts appeared in the distance.

 

***

 

The halls of Hogwarts were roaring with merry conversation as all the students who had been away for the holidays were returning, once again filling it with the bright faces of witches and wizards. Draco and Harry, who’d split off from Blaise and Pansy, were wading through the crowd, together, ducking and dodging to avoid being hit by wayward enchanted airplanes or chess pieces that were chucked in a fit of anger, landing on the floor, and then running away from the ill-tempered owner of them.    
  
Harry was very much looking forward to returning to the Slytherin Common Room, where he knew it would be quieter, but he was stopped midway by a familiar freckled face. Ron had appeared to the left of him, a hesitant smile on his face. 

 

“Harry.” He said, greeting him quietly. 

 

“Ron. Had a Happy Christmas, did you?” 

 

“Yeah, it was alright.” 

 

Draco came to a halt a few paces away from them, a scowl on his face, but he made no move to step forward and interrupt the conversation or antagonize Ron, which Harry was grateful for. Talking to Ron could be challenging enough without Malfoy’s smart-mouth adding to the tension between them. And, though he knew it was futile, Harry really wanted to be friends with Weasley. He wanted to prove that they could all get along just fine, no matter what House they were put in. 

 

“Thanks for the new Gobstones set. I thought I was going to have to play with marbles that squirted  _ me _ every time for the rest of my life.” Ron added, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you much better than candies. I didn’t know what you liked, is all, and -” 

 

“I thought it was a fine present,” Harry said, grinning broadly with genuine appreciation. He knew Ron wouldn’t understand it, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell him, but every gift had made his first, real Christmas just feel more so. 

 

Silence fell between them, with Ron still blushing furiously and Harry out of things to say. Maybe he didn’t have to say anything. 

 

“Well, anyway, thanks. See you around?” 

 

“Yeah. See you.” 

 

Ron nodded and turned away, stalking off to where the round-faced Neville was waiting with a nervous expression. 

 

Draco was on him in a flash, his grey eyes narrowed.

 

“You sent Weasel a gift?” 

 

“He’s my friend,” Harry said, quietly, tired of defending himself against Draco’s bizarre jealousy. 

 

“Maybe we should do a secret Santa, next year,” Draco muttered, clearly being a brat, but Harry only rolled his eyes and pretended to consider it. 

 

“Could be fun, actually. Maybe I’ll pitch it to the Headmaster.” 

 

Draco scowled harder. 

 

“Let’s go back to the dormitory before you get yourself kicked out of Slytherin and re-sorted into Hufflepuff, you sap.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to let this sit for as long as it did. Life has just been hectic, but it was wonderful to come back to so many brilliant reviews of my work. I've been reinspired for this story and I hope to update much more frequently from here on out. I hope this update makes up for the some of the wait. 
> 
> -Sunshine


End file.
